The American Family
by Cara Mia
Summary: Read and find out: Detailed Summary inside
1. Chapter 1

Show: The Agency  
  
Title: The American Family: Chapter 1  
  
Pairing: A.B. Stiles/Terri Lowell  
  
Disclaimer: These characters are not my property etc etc ::God knows I wish A.B were though::   
  
Don't sue, because I don't have any money.  
  
Summary: This story is slightly AU – Stiles and Terri during one of their sexual escapades   
  
created a son, whose name is Alexander Bryan. ::I thought a mini A.B would be kinda cute:: They   
  
are both CIA agents and this story focuses on how they try to focus on raising their son while   
  
being Agents and at the same time try to find their way back to each other – through trials and   
  
tribulations of course.  
  
A/N: This is my first fic for "The Agency". In fact I only started watching the show recently. I was   
  
very surprised to see that there are so few fanfictions for "The Agency" here on fanfiction.net…   
  
indeed anywhere else. Keep in mind, I know very little about the characters, I thought A.B and   
  
Terri have amazing chemistry, so this idea just popped up in my head a few days ago. Well,   
  
please R&R, I'd really appreciate it.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
CIA Headquarters 2007  
  
Terri Lowell was driving him to distraction! A.B. Stiles felt no shame at this epiphany. After all,   
  
Terri Lowell had driven many a man to distraction. That's what made her so good. She was the   
  
total package: exceptional beauty coupled with amazing intelligence and quick wit that kept many   
  
a prospective suitor on his toes. Did he mention she was beautiful?  
  
Aye! She was beautiful, unearthly so. A.B. lent only half his attention to Reese's voice as he   
  
droned on about operation Something or the Other. The other half he concentrated as covertly as   
  
possible solely on the woman sitting opposite him. Her usually wavy hair had been scraped back   
  
from her face into a severe bun, softened only by a few curling tendrils that had escaped the   
  
many pins no doubt keeping the bun in place. She wore a crisp black blouse that ruffled at the   
  
collar, her smooth tan skin playing peek-a-boo with his gaze and a chunky turquoise necklace   
  
nestled just above her cleavage which he knew from personal experience was high and firm with   
  
or without a –   
  
"Agent Stiles?" came Director Gage's voice.  
  
A.B. snapped out of his thoughts and looked up only to find seven expectant pairs of eyes glued   
  
to him. Stiles cleared his throat in embarrassment and flushed pinkly. Joshua, curious as ever,   
  
arched a sardonic brow. Bad-assed CIA Agent A.B. Stiles did *not* blush like a schoolgirl; it   
  
simply was not possible. If it were remotely possible for a hole to open up beneath his chair and   
  
swallow him alive, he would have dropped to his death willingly to escape this moment.  
  
"Yes, sir?" he asked after a few more seconds of uncomfortable silence.  
  
Director Gage's brow furrowed in confusion. "I was just asking if you had anything to add about   
  
the Sumac Cell?"  
  
Stiles' brow furrowed to match the Director's and the insane desire to be swallowed alive grew   
  
deeper. ::Sumac who?::  
  
Joshua hid a smile in his palm before stepping up and taking pity after Stiles still hadn't replied.   
  
"Well sir, I don't think there's anything more conclusive to add. After all Carl's already stated what   
  
little Intel there is. I don't think Agent Stiles would know anymore than he."   
  
Gage nodded his head in satisfaction and turned to speak quietly to Carl. Joshua caught A.B.'s   
  
eye. The message was clear, ::You owe me one!::  
  
A.B. sat through the remaining forty-five minutes of the meeting painstakingly paying attention to   
  
every detail, making a supreme effort not to even let his eyes flit to Terri's face. His pride was a   
  
little pricked that he was having such a hard time concentrating when she was around and she   
  
was so indifferent around him. She hadn't even looked in his direction once since he had been   
  
startled out of his thoughts, and after they'd been dismissed, she had bounded out of the   
  
conference room without even saying goodbye.  
  
That pissed him off, he realized. In fact everything that Terri had done with seemingly no concern   
  
for what he thought pissed him off. It showed in his face as he stalked toward the door. Joshua's   
  
hand on his shoulder gave him pause. "You really shouldn't be daydreaming at work, you know,   
  
Stiles."  
  
A.B. shot Joshua a baleful glare but the older man only chuckled at this. "Shut it, Nankin," Stiles   
  
muttered before shrugging his hand from his shoulder and continuing from the room.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Terri watched A.B. as he stalked from the conference room. He was angry and distracted. He had   
  
been for the past couple of weeks. And his temper was especially short with her. They fought   
  
whenever they were alone and could not have a civil conversation for two minutes… except about   
  
Alex. Which ironically, was someone she had to talk to him about.  
  
As he moved past her desk, she called out to him. "A.B.?"  
  
Stiles clenched his fists and paused, but did not turn around to face her. "Yeah?" he asked   
  
expectantly.  
  
Terri sighed in frustration as she moved to stand just behind him. "I need to talk to you."  
  
Of course, she couldn't see him grit his teeth at this but she could certainly hear impending   
  
hostility in his voice. "About what."  
  
"It's about Alex."  
  
Sighing, A.B. immediately turned around, the concern for his son swimming in his brilliant blue   
  
eyes. "What about him? Is something wrong?"  
  
Terri shook her head. "No, no, nothing's wrong. I just wandered if you had any plans this Friday?"  
  
Stiles arched an eyebrow. "No, why?" He cursed the anxious curiosity in his voice.   
  
"I was wondering if you'd like to take A.B.2 this weekend?"   
  
A.B.2 was the nickname of their four-year-old son Alexander Bryan because he shared the same   
  
initials as his father. Of course, the A.B. of his name didn't stand for the same thing – A.B.   
  
absolutely refused to tell anyone, including Terri what the A.B. stood for, telling everyone   
  
Absolute Bastard was the name he had been christened with. Yeah right….  
  
Terri and Stiles shared custody of the little boy, who lived with his mother and spent every other   
  
weekend and most holidays with his father. Because their relationship had been nothing more   
  
than fling, initially it had been awkward dealing with the fact that he was a father, but as time went   
  
on, A.B. adored his son, and spent as much time with him as possible. Even if he and Terri didn't   
  
exactly see eye-to-eye on everything, he wasn't going to pass this opportunity up.  
  
"Sure," he replied, his blue eyes shining. Suddenly, his brow furrowed. Terri was usually very   
  
territorial with visitation. Why was she allowing him to take Alex two weeks in a row? "Wait a   
  
minute… why?"  
  
Terri knew this question was coming. It was one she wanted to avoid like the plague but knew   
  
she couldn't. Terri's face flamed as she shrugged her shoulders and forced her brown eyes to   
  
meet his. "I have a date." With those words she spun on her heel and went back to her desk.  
  
She watched with wicked glee as A.B. stood rooted in shock. "Be there by 6:30, and don't be   
  
late!" she tossed over her shoulder.  
  
TBC…  
  
A/N: Well, what do you think? R&R please. ::I'm posting Chapter 2 as well. I didn't want to lose   
  
my train of thought:: 


	2. Chapter 2

Show: The Agency  
  
Title: American Family: Chapter 2  
  
Pairing: A.B. Stiles/Terri Lowell  
  
Disclaimer: See Chapter 1  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
::She had a date! What the hell!:: Stiles mused as he drove his truck through the dark quiet   
  
streets towards Terri's new house. ::Terri Lowell hasn't had a date since…. Well since… God   
  
knows!:: Stiles couldn't help but feel hot jealousy pooling low in his stomach, and the fact that   
  
Terri was going out with a man tonight, was a bitter pill to swallow.  
  
Stiles swung into the driveway of Terri's two-story house and savagely slammed on the brakes,   
  
the F-150 coming to a stop, just inches from the silver bumper of her SUV. A.B. clenched his jaw   
  
and tried to cool down. It wouldn't do very well to meet his little boy like an ogre, no matter how   
  
obsessed with monsters that particular four-year-old was.  
  
He just could not understand these feelings he'd been having the past few weeks where Terri   
  
was concerned. They had ranged from anger and frustration, to happiness and relief, to just plain   
  
damn lust. Hell, well, that was nothing new. He'd always lusted after Terri. Now add, pissed off   
  
and possessive to the list. A.B. scoffed and slammed the door shut, amazed it didn't rattle the   
  
windows.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
From her bedroom window upstairs, Terri heard the squeal of tires. Moving a filmy curtain aside,   
  
she looked out to see A.B. slam he truck door and stalk toward the door. ::What's got his panties   
  
in a twist now?:: she wondered, her brow furrowing in confusion.  
  
"Alex!" she yelled to her son, "Your Dad's here. Go open the door for him, sweetheart."  
  
Terri smiled as she heard the little pitter-patter of feet racing down the hallway past her bedroom.   
  
"Ok, Mom," Alex replied bounding down the stairs.  
  
She listened carefully as Alex unlocked the door. She carefully placed the other diamond stud in   
  
her ear and straightened her dress just in time to hear her son squeal, "Dad!"  
  
Terri listened to hear A.B. break out in a stunned laugh as no doubt Alex had practically leapt into   
  
his arms. "Hey, champ!" she heard Stiles reply, closing the door behind him.  
  
Terri grabbed her purse from her bed and exited her bedroom. In the near darkness at the top of   
  
the stairs she watched the two Stiles men together. Of course calling four-year-old A.B.2 was a   
  
little much, but she couldn't help it when he looked so much like his father. He shared the same   
  
brilliant blue eyes framed by decadently long lashes and the same dark hair, but unlike his father,   
  
A.B.2's fell constantly into his cherubic face and had a tendency to wave, just like his mother's.  
  
Watching A.B. tickle his son, sent butterflies fluttering in her stomach. Moments like this, when   
  
she could silently watch him with Alex made it so hard to remember he was a ruthless CIA   
  
operative, a man trained to kill. A man who had caused her so much pain; broken her heart.   
  
"Where's your Mom?" asked A.B. as he mercilessly tickled the little boy in his arms.  
  
Alex was laughing so hard he could barely breathe. "Stop!" he begged between gasps. "She's   
  
upstairs!" he screamed, as his father attacked his ribs voraciously.  
  
"She's right here," answered Terri from above them.  
  
A.B.'s head snapped up, his blue eyes widening as he took in her form sashaying slowly down   
  
the stairs. A.B.2 lay forgotten in his arms, and he knew his jaw was probably scraping the floor,   
  
but at that moment, he didn't care.  
  
Terri's eyes twinkled mischievously as she cleared the last step and came to stand before him.   
  
Carefully, A.B. set his still giggling son on his feet. Terri looked… amazing. He cursed himself for   
  
staring, but he couldn't help it.   
  
Her long wavy chestnut-coloured hair had been pulled back and up into an intricate French twist.   
  
Diamond stud sparkled in her ears a tiny floating diamond laid just above the deep plunging   
  
neckline of her sinful dress. It was mainly shiny black satin and it lovingly hugged every curve   
  
before stopping with a flirty black Irish lace hem just below her knee. His eyes journey   
  
appreciatively down her strong shapely legs to her sexy black sling-backs, her dainty fire-engine-  
  
red toenails peeking out.  
  
A.B.'s gaze flitted back to her flawlessly made-up face: smoky grey eyeshadow leant an air of   
  
seduction and soft glossy rosy lips begged him to kiss them. Jealousy hit him hard in the belly   
  
and caused him to see red. Of course it would not be him to kiss her lips… it would be some   
  
other man. Oh how he wished to God he could punch out the bastard lucky enough to be going   
  
out with Ms. Terri Lowell tonight!  
  
Terri blushed under his scrutiny, knowing that he would probably find some way to burst her   
  
bubble and make her feel like crap, but she was pleasantly surprised when all A.B. could muster   
  
out was a very appreciative, "Wow…."  
  
Terri grinned, although she was a little uncomfortable with his intense gaze. Those butterflies   
  
were fluttering like mad in her belly.   
  
A.B.2 looked back and forth between his parents. "Yeah, wow, Mommy, you look pretty."  
  
Terri smiled again, and bent to kiss her son on the cheek. "Thanks A.B.2 . Go upstairs and get   
  
your stuff. You don't want to keep your Dad waiting."  
  
"Ok." Alex darted away and up the stairs toward his room.  
  
An uncomfortable silence stretched between them then.  
  
"Wow," said A.B. again, clearing his throat and breaking the silence, "your date's one lucky man."   
  
He hoped he'd said that without a degree of bitterness although the possessive beast in him was   
  
biting at the bit. He was so jealous, he wanted to hit something! Preferably Terri's date!  
  
"Yah think?" she asked, patting her hair as she set her purse on the sofa. "It's not too much for a   
  
first date?" she asked, looking at him over her shoulder.  
  
A.B. was stumped. He wanted to scream at her that yes it was a *lot* too much, and maybe she   
  
should go change into sackcloth and ashes, but of course, seemingly indifferent as ever, he   
  
casually leaned against the staircase, trying his damnest not to stare at the lush swell of her   
  
cleavage and nonchalantly replied. "Nah, Terri, of course not. It's fine." ::You're fine:: he wanted   
  
to add.  
  
She smiled in gratitude, "Thanks," she said softly, her beautiful brown eyes twinkling.  
  
Stiles turned to see A.B.2 bounding down the stairs, dragging his little Batman backpack down the   
  
stairs. "All set, champ?" he asked Alex.  
  
A.B.2 nodded his head. "Uh huh. I'm ready, Daddy."  
  
Stiles took the little boy's hand and led him over to his mother.  
  
"Ok, now, you be a good boy, A.B.2," Terri ordered, kissing her son's smooth soft cheek. "Don't let   
  
Daddy feed you too much junk and stay up late, and don't keep stealing Mrs. Watkins' cat,   
  
alright?"  
  
"Uh huh, Mommy," he replied, planting a kiss on her cheek in return. "I'll be good…I pwomise," he   
  
continued innocently.  
  
Terri rolled her eyes and snorted with laughter, knowing when A.B. and A.B.2 got together, chaos   
  
ensued and bruised arms and skinned knees were the order of the day. "I'll bet you do," she   
  
replied sarcastically.   
  
"Get your jacket, Alex," Stiles instructed. "and wait for me in the truck. I'll be right there."  
  
Stiles and Terri watched as their son did as he was told, closing the door behind him. Terri   
  
cleared her throat and handed him a sheet of paper from the coffee table. "Here is the restaurant   
  
number and the emergency numbers. Call me if anything happens," she continued, pushing him   
  
toward the door.  
  
A.B. nodded his head as he accepted the papers. She was practically kicking him out. He knew   
  
she wanted him gone before her date arrived, and those jealous feelings wanted him to make up   
  
some excuse to stick around till the other man showed. Instead he clamped his feet down and   
  
turned to her.  
  
Terri gasped as he was only inches apart from her. A.B.'s blue eyes turned smoky as his gaze   
  
inadvertently dropped to her glossy lips. "You look really beautiful tonight, Terri," he said huskily.  
  
Terri's eyes widened as his warm breath fanned across her lips. Swallowing hard, she took a step   
  
back and clumsily opened the door for him. "Goodnight A.B. I'll call you in the morning."  
  
A.B. smirked and allowed himself to be pushed out onto the porch. "Have fun," he called   
  
sarcastically.  
  
Terri's eyes narrowed and she slammed the door in his face.  
  
::Yeah right!::  
  
TBC…  
  
A/N: Well that's it for now, folks. R&R, please, tell me what you think, especially about Terri's   
  
outfit. Should I even bother to continue with this story. Your feedback will let me know, so don't be   
  
stingy. Ciao! 


	3. Chapter 3

Show: The Agency  
  
Title: The American Family: Chapter 3  
  
Pairing: A.B. Stiles/Terri Lowell  
  
Disclaimer: See Chapter 1  
  
A/N: Thank you for all your comments, those who took the time to review: Jenny; Kincaid;   
  
~Lauren; Lelieo54 and tander2950, you guys are the best! A few things to note: Stiles and Terri's   
  
little boy's nickname is not A.B. Two, but A.B. squared – it was a bit of an upload problem, where   
  
the font didn't load as I'd wanted. Just wanted to clarify. On with the story… enjoy!  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
If Stiles thought that Terri's date was a very fortunate man, well certainly half the female clientele   
  
of the restaurant thought that Terri was a very fortunate *woman*. On many an occasion   
  
throughout dinner she had seen the many appreciative if a little envious glances thrown at her   
  
and her partner throughout the night. It wasn't very hard to understand why.  
  
With an appreciative and experienced eye, Terri let her gaze subtly roam over the man sitting   
  
before her. Michael O'Leary was clean-cut with a chiseled chin, sandy blonde hair and sparkling   
  
green eyes. The crow's feet at the corners of his eyes and the crags that lined his thin mouth kept   
  
him from being too movie star handsome. At forty-two years, he could never be mistaken for a   
  
boy. No, Michael O'Leary was all *man*.  
  
"Like what you see?" Michael's deep baritone voice broke her thoughts. He flashed his dazzling   
  
grin as Terri's face blushed hotly.  
  
"What do you think?" she recovered coyly, lifting a perfectly arched brow.  
  
Michael's grin grew wider. "I'll say you do. Aren't you glad that I was so persistent?" he asked.  
  
Terri grinned. He was referring to the many times they had run in to each other at the café   
  
downtown. He had doggedly pursued her with invitations for drinks, lunch, dinner… but always   
  
she'd refused. Until one evening she'd run into him after a particular stressful fight with A.B. over   
  
something or the other, and subconsciously hoping it would get a rise out of A.B., she had   
  
accepted. "For the moment," she replied saucily, sipping her wine.  
  
Michael laughed, "That's good to know." He looked away from her to the other couples on the   
  
dance floor, softly swaying to the smooth melodies of the jazz quartet playing softly in the corner.   
  
"Would you like to dance?" he asked softly, turning back to her.  
  
Terri smiled softly. She loved to dance, but few opportunities to do so had presented themselves   
  
to her in the past four years. "Yes, I would," she accepted, giving him her hand.  
  
Michael's grip was sure and warm as he pulled her to her feet, led her to the dance floor and then   
  
into his arms. The large hand on her waist was warm as he pulled her closer to his body. Not   
  
close enough for her to be alarmed, but close enough for her to feel the warmth of his body   
  
beneath his blazer and smell the spicy scent of his cologne.   
  
Terri lifted a hand to his shoulder and allowed him to lead her as they swayed to the music. Being   
  
so near to another male who didn't smell like baby-powder and shampoo was something that she   
  
had to get used to again. Dancing with said-same male was something she had to get used to   
  
again. The last time she had danced with a man, it had been with Stiles at a dinner where they   
  
had been on the look out for a terrorist benefactor, two years ago in Lisbon.  
  
Stiles had held her close to him in those few minutes as they'd pivoted, each trying to catch a   
  
glimpse of their target. His grip had been possessive on her waist, sliding seductively along the   
  
smooth silk of her dress and he had even kissed her hair as they moved. Then he had caught   
  
sight of their target leaving the room, and he'd all but thrust her away like a ticking time bomb. It   
  
had been for appearances sake only, and Terri had cursed her body for reacting the way it had,   
  
and her silly heart for being wounded.  
  
Now, she didn't know how she felt as she slowly swayed with Michael. All night he had been the   
  
perfect gentleman, engaging her in polite conversation from things as mundane as the weather to   
  
politics in the Middle East. He had even made her laugh… gosh that man could be a tease! But, it   
  
didn't make her feel uncomfortable. *He* didn't make her feel uncomfortable, and she *was* truly   
  
glad that she had finally accepted his dinner invitation, because she found herself truly having a   
  
wonderful time.  
  
The song ended and they paused to politely applaud the band, and Michael took her arm and   
  
escorted her back to their table.  
  
"That was nice," he stated, as they settled back into their seats.  
  
"Yes, it was," Terri agreed, gifting him with another smile.  
  
Michael's grin faltered a bit, and he gazed at her in appreciation. "I know this might sound cheesy,   
  
and you probably hear it all the time, but you are an extraordinarily beautiful woman."  
  
It *was* cheesy, and she *was* used to hearing men compliment her beauty but, for some   
  
reason, the husky appreciation in his voice caused her to blush. "Thank you," she said, smiling   
  
softly.   
  
"It's the truth."   
  
The two lapsed into a comfortable silence, before Michael suddenly spoke up. "Would you like   
  
dessert?"  
  
Although she would die for a piece of the restaurant's famed chocolate lava cake, Terri shook her   
  
head in negation. For some reason his compliment, although appreciated, did not sit entirely well   
  
in her. Accepting compliments from men was something that she would have to get used to   
  
again.  
  
"No? You sure?" at Terri's repeated nod, he conceded and called for the check.  
  
On the way home, Terri was lost in her thoughts as she stared unseeing at the moonlit scenery   
  
rushing by her outside. She was confused. She had been in a tizzy over Stiles especially in the   
  
past couple of months. She thought she had long ago given up her foolish fantasies of ever being   
  
in a meaningful relationship with him, of being a family. But as always, A.B. had a way of worming   
  
his way into her heart, especially around Alex.  
  
::Like tonight::  
  
She'd seen Stiles' reaction as she came down the stairs. Indeed she'd reveled in it, hoping that   
  
he was feeling just a little bit jealous. Of course, as with the norm, he had revealed nothing but   
  
indifference. But then, when she was practically kicking him out of the house, he had suddenly   
  
swung around, and she swore that he would've kissed her. For a few seconds she'd hesitated,   
  
knowing that if he had, she would not have wanted him to stop. But she knew what came of   
  
passion with A.B. Stiles: nothing but passion and pain. And she would be *damned* if she'd go   
  
through that again, so she'd stepped away.  
  
And she'd gone out to a wonderful restaurant and enjoyed a wonderful dinner with an even more   
  
wonderful man. And she didn't know what to make of it. She knew she was attracted to Michael   
  
and if he asked, she would gladly go out with him again. These kinds of feelings for another man   
  
were totally alien to her. there were new, and exciting, and held an aura of promise to them. She   
  
had to rid her thoughts of A.B. and her fantasies that would never be reality, and focus on her   
  
future. A future that could be very bright if a certain Michael O'Leary was in it.  
  
"You were awfully quiet, Terri," came Michael's voice, startling her out of her reverie.  
  
"She looked around and realized he had pulled into her driveway. "I'm fine," she replied. "Just a   
  
little tired," she lied.  
  
Michael furrowed his brow, but said nothing, as he got out and opened the car door for her.  
  
"Thank you, sir," said Terri with a small laugh. She would have to get used to a man with   
  
impeccable manners as well.  
  
On her porch, Terri fumbled for her keys, a little unnerved with his presence behind her.   
  
Adolescent thoughts of **Will he kiss me?** flitted through her head, as the small bunch of keys   
  
eluded her questing hands. Finally locating them, she fished them out, and turned to Michael with   
  
a small expectant smile.  
  
Michael plunged his hands in his pockets and looked down earnestly into her face. "I had a very   
  
nice time tonight, Terri," he said softly.  
  
"So did I," she replied.  
  
Michael smiled. "I'd like to see you again, if you'd like."  
  
Terri's smile grew wider. "I *would* like that."   
  
"Great." As if in a trance Terri's eyes widened as Michael leaned toward her. She fully expected   
  
him to kiss her lips but instead, his lips brushed her soft cheek. "Goodnight, Terri," he whispered   
  
huskily in her ear. " I'll call you tomorrow."  
  
Terri could only smile in reply again as she watched his lean figure back away from her, down the   
  
steps to his car. The powerful engine turned over and with a parting honk, he backed his   
  
Mercedes out the drive and sped away.  
  
Terri chuckled as she let herself into her house. Not bothering to switch on the lights, she reset   
  
the alarm that A.B. had insisted she install when she'd first moved in. Upstairs in her room, Terri   
  
slowly undressed, enjoying the silky feel of the satin sliding down her body. The spot where   
  
Michael had kissed her cheek still tingled.   
  
Terri had to laugh out loud. With the type of flirt Michael had shown he could be, Terri had fully   
  
expected him to kiss her. And after her thoughts in the car, she wouldn't have minded. But he   
  
kissed her cheek instead. Her *cheek*! Terri pulled a thin cotton nightgown over her head and slid   
  
into bed. Her final thoughts before she drifted off to sleep were: **Yup! Michael O'Leary sure is a   
  
gentleman.**  
  
TBC…  
  
A/N: R&R people, tell me what you thought. I must tell you that currently I'm about to start writing   
  
my exams, so there will probably be a lengthy break between this and Chapter 4. However, I   
  
expect to be fully back in commission by June 11th. If you are lucky, I might be able to post a new   
  
Chapter before then. If not, thank you for reading and I wish to hear from you all. Ciao! 


	4. Chapter 4

Show: The Agency  
  
Title: The American Family: Chapter 4  
  
Pairing: A.B. Stiles/Terri Lowell  
  
Disclaimer: See Chapter 1  
  
A/N: Well, I'm playing truant here and deciding to post another chapter, but with the distinct lack   
  
of reviews ::sniffle:: I don't even know if I should even bother. Please R&R. The feed back is the   
  
only thing that keeps me writing and knowing that the story is still being read, so don't be stingy   
  
and try to make a silly 16-year old feel better, ok?  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
With a weary sigh, Stiles settled his exhausted body onto his couch and twisted off the cap on his   
  
beer-bottle. He wiped his tired eyes as the fizzy alcohol slid down his throat, and he could hear   
  
the muscles in his neck pop and crack as he slowly rotated his head.  
  
::Jesus, how can a four year old have so much damn energy!:: he wondered, as he propped his   
  
feet up on his coffee table and switched on the TV. He still pondered the question as his tired   
  
mind recapped the events of his night from when Terri had practically shoved him out of the   
  
house.   
  
He'd had all intents and purposes of driving straight to his apartment, plopping A.B.2 in front of the   
  
tube with a Barney video or two, some milk before brushing his teeth and then carting him off to   
  
bed so he could enjoy some peace and quiet. Of course, where a four-year-old was concerned,   
  
nothing was ever so simple.  
  
As soon as they'd stepped through the door, Alex had wanted ice-cream; then chocolate milk;   
  
then he wanted to watch a Batman cartoon, not Barney; then he wanted to eat pizza like his   
  
Daddy, although he'd had dinner before he'd left home. He knew that Terri would kill him if Alex   
  
had pizza after dinner, but he gave it to him anyways to stave off the imminent whining.   
  
When nine o'clock rolled around, and Batman video number 2 was over, A.B. had announced it   
  
was time for bed. Of course, A.B.2 would have none of it, and decided that a spontaneous game   
  
of hide-go-seek would be fun to play with Daddy, so it had taken Stiles, the bad-assed CIA agent,   
  
another half hour to find his precocious little four-year-old hiding in the laundry basket.  
  
A wriggling match had then ensued and it took another further ten minutes to get him up the stairs   
  
and into the tub. The problems had then arisen again. Of course, A.B.2 had wanted every single   
  
floating object in the house in the tub with him, but had to settle for a rubber ducky and a toy   
  
ship… or two… or three. Then, when sailing along the Atlantic wasn't very fun any more, Soak   
  
Daddy with an Impromptu Tsunami became the game of choice. So before he could finally drag a   
  
decidedly clean A.B.2 from the tub, Stiles had become effectively wetter.  
  
Thankfully, after all the splashing and giggling at his drowned-rat father, Alex had finally begun to   
  
feel the beckoning of Dreamland. He had obediently brushed his teeth under his father's careful   
  
supervision, and stepped into his Sesame Street pajamas before Stiles had to obligingly lift him   
  
from the bathroom and carry him to bed. He had been too tired to even ask for his customary   
  
glass of water and bedtime story. All he could muster was a very sleepy: "G'night, Daddy. I wov   
  
you," before his sleepy eyes closed and he became a resident of dreamland. ::For at least eight   
  
hours, hopefully:: Stiles couldn't but hope.  
  
He kissed Alex's downy cheek and switched on his nightlight before closing the door and heading   
  
to the bathroom to mop up the flooded mess. Now, forty-five minutes later, he sat flipping through   
  
the Spam that was Friday night TV, trying to keep his mind off Terri and her date.  
  
At the mere thought Stiles' had gripped the beer-bottle tightly, his grip almost at breaking point.   
  
Now that he had the time to think again, he couldn't help but feel the cold sting of jealousy and   
  
the inane knowledge that he had messed up. Big time! Reflexively, he took another swig of   
  
alcohol, draining the bottle.  
  
::Damn!:: Stiles was pissed… nothing new there. But he was especially pissed that he was here   
  
thinking about her, and she was probably having the time of her life, giving that lucky bastard The   
  
Terri Smile. The one that was so cheeky but shy, sexy and full of promise; the one that made her   
  
eyes twinkle and turn smoky at the same time; the one that sparkled like stars on a perfectly clear   
  
dark night; the one that reduced a man to a mass of quivering knees and tied tongues, fraught   
  
with adolescent feelings.   
  
::Goddamn it!:: Stiles slammed the beer bottle down on the table and clenched his jaw. He knew   
  
that the reason his and Terri's relationship was so screwed up was because of him. If he hadn't   
  
been such an arrogant, cold little bastard, who knows what could have happened? But the truth of   
  
the matter was that he treated Terri Lowell like crap. And no matter what she might have felt for   
  
him, a woman like her wasn't going to stand for his bullshit.  
  
But Terri Lowell scared him, and Agent A.B. Stiles wasn't scared of anything, least of all a petite   
  
brown-haired Graphics Designer. Who just about knocked him flat on his butt… literally!  
  
In the beginning, he had been intrigued by her, and very, very attracted. She was different from   
  
the women that usually caught his eye. Perhaps, the fact that she actually knew who Socrates   
  
and Plato were and could tell the difference between Miles and Coltrane had something to do   
  
with it. Along with the fact that she *had* knocked him clear off his feet. Terri Lowell sure had a   
  
way of grabbing a man's attention!  
  
Then came those many nights of working together. She had circled him like a caged dog, wary of   
  
every move he made. They'd worked close together, but they had known nothing about each   
  
other except what was in each other's dossier. It was a strange time then. The air between them   
  
had just been fraught with sexual frustration, and it wasn't clear when one of them would snap.  
  
Then came Capri….  
  
It was the single most mind-blowing experience of his life. It had yet to be topped. He could still   
  
remember the gentle sway of the yacht in the marina, the sun's rays reflecting off the white   
  
fibreglass, Terri's sexy little lavender bikini, their opening conversation and then… the most   
  
amazing sexual experience of his entire life.  
  
He could remember thinking that first time with Terri was like coming home. And that moment had   
  
been so profound it was scary. But while he couldn't seem to get enough of her physically,   
  
emotionally, he began to shut her out: missed calls, cancelled dates, non-existent conversations.   
  
Until he had gotten another craving to be with her again of course.   
  
And so the cycle had continued, until Terri got frustrated and pissed off and said enough was   
  
enough! Whatever it was that they had… it was over!  
  
And he felt as though he had died. He kept watch over her, at a distance of course, and so that is   
  
why he had been so torn up inside when she'd been kidnapped. Why he'd been beside his mind   
  
with worry and the fear that she might be killed, and why he had been willing to risk anything: his   
  
career, his life, in order to get her back.  
  
And he had. His standing with the CIA had been a little shaky for a while, but none of that had   
  
mattered because she was alive and safe. The night he found her, and she'd had been debriefed   
  
and cleared to go home, she hadn't wanted to be alone, and he was in no shape to deny her. He   
  
couldn't keep his hands off her after she asked that he take her to his apartment. It had been   
  
upstairs in his very own bed that he had poured his body into her, and they'd conceived their son,   
  
and unbeknownst to Terri, he'd given her a piece of his heart, not just a piece of his DNA.  
  
But then for a change, *Terri* had been the one to pull away. He was wounded to realize that she   
  
regretted their night together, and she had been cold and indifferent to him ever since then,   
  
especially when informing him: "A.B. Stiles, you are the sire of my child." Times had been hard   
  
since then, and it was nobody's fault but his!  
  
Heaving another exhausted sigh, A.B. rested his neck on the back of the couch. He closed his   
  
eyes, only for a second. But before long, his exhausted body dozed off, only to plague his mind   
  
with memories of Capri…  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Capri 2003  
  
A.B. perched on the bow of the yacht, enjoying the slow, almost playful swaying of the marina   
  
waves against the sleek lines of the boat. He sat in the shade of the overhang, careful of the   
  
sun's rays reflecting off the deck. It was hot that day, and his lack of clothing was the way he was   
  
dealing with the heat. How they both were dealing with the heat.  
  
A.B. could hear Terri's footsteps as she came from below deck. He cocked an appreciative   
  
eyebrow as he took in her lavender bikini and silky sarong. She cocked a matching eyebrow as   
  
she undid the knot at her hip and the material pooled at her feet. At that moment, A.B. felt as   
  
though he had been punched in the gut. Terri's legs went on forever: long, strong and shapely.   
  
Incredibly sexy!  
  
Terri adopted his position next to him, and together they stared out at the crowded marina. He   
  
could hear her rhythmic breathing beside him and could smell the suntan lotion that glistened on   
  
her skin. The wavy hair that had at times fascinated him was pulled back into a messy ponytail.   
  
This was not the Terri Lowell that he was used to. He was used to the sleek sophisticate who was   
  
quick to smile at anyone but him. A woman who was impossibly sexy.   
  
This rumpled, laid-back Terri was someone he would have to get used to. Especially if they were   
  
expected to continue their charade of two American jetsetters very much in love with one another.   
  
A role they played so well in public, but one they had to perfect in private.  
  
"Tell me about yourself." His request came so out of the blue that Terri had looked at him as   
  
though he had sprouted horns and another head.  
  
"What do you want to know?" she asked. "*Why* do you want to know?"  
  
A.B. shrugged indifferently. "I dunno… everything. As to why… how are we to upkeep this   
  
charade of bein' oh so in love if we don't know anything about each other?"  
  
Terri arched an eyebrow. "We'll manage just fine Agent Stiles. We don't have any other choice.   
  
Unless you want to end up with a bullet in your skull of course."  
  
A.B. smiled tightly. "Well, I know you're sarcastic at least."  
  
Terri rolled her eyes. "Everything you need to know is in my dossier: I'm 34, born in Fargo, I'm a   
  
Graphics Designer, and I've worked for the CIA for the past four years."  
  
"Married?"  
  
Terri turned an exasperated eye on him. "Divorced. Why would you bother asking if you know the   
  
only reason I joined the CIA is for my talent which was so amazingly squandered after my   
  
asshole husband cheated on me and left me with a company worth jack?"  
  
A.B. grinned. "Sound's much more interesting when you put it that way."  
  
They lapsed into silence. "Fair is fair. What about you, Agent Stiles? What's the A.B. stand for?"  
  
Stiles chuckled and shook his head. "I told you already: Absolute Bastard."  
  
"Oh jeez, I forgot," replied Terri sarcastically.  
  
And so, the conversation had continued and had actually evolved into good-natured bantering.   
  
Although they had ceased being so hostile to each other, and were actually having a civil   
  
conversation, Terri shrewdly noted that A.B. kept dodging the personal questions, and was   
  
indeed drawing *her* out.  
  
As the day progressed to dusk and eventually night, they supplemented their conversation with   
  
good seafood and even better wine. The alcohol and the cool breeze on her body loosened   
  
Terri's mouth and both their bodies. And before long, Stiles found himself giving into temptation   
  
and leaning across the small gap between their bodies and capturing her lips with his.  
  
She'd tasted a little like Shrimp Fettuccini, Chateau Briand and tiramisu on the surface. But as her   
  
mouth opened beneath his, he tasted a flavour that was distinctly Terri, soft and feminine, and   
  
with definite experience.   
  
Things had definitely gotten a little out of hand after that. He, non-too-gently, yanked her to her   
  
feet and dragged her, mouth still fused to his, below deck with him. The heat had been   
  
threatening to consume them as he ran his callused hands down the smooth skin of her arms.   
  
Terri moaned deep in her throat as A.B. kissed a burning path down her neck before pausing to   
  
gently nip and suck at her collarbone.  
  
She pulled his mouth to hers again, undulating her hips against his, showing him without words   
  
what she wanted from him. All thoughts of propriety and duty and just plain common sense were   
  
banished from that cabin as A.B. first stripped Terri then himself nude. Taking the briefest   
  
moment for protection, he rolled on top and slowly slid into her.  
  
Neither was able to keep quiet that moment. It felt *so* good. There was no way in hell that he   
  
could stop, even if he wanted to. He felt bonded to her at that moment as she slowly wrapped her   
  
arms and legs around his back as he began to move. His controlled rhythm soon snapped as   
  
Terri moved beneath him, whispering his name with every breath. He couldn't understand this,   
  
couldn't look away from her beautiful expressive face as she exploded with a keening cry that   
  
sent him over the edge as well.  
  
In those few minutes while they tried to catch their breath, Stiles hadn't thought about anything   
  
but how right it felt to have Terri in his arms. And so in true Stiles fashion, he had pulled away.   
  
And everything was lost… everything was lost.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Stiles' Apartment 2007  
  
Stiles awoke with a jolt. The feeling of loss heavy on his heart. Sighing wearily, he switched off   
  
the television, chucked the beer-bottle in the kitchen trash, checked the alarm and headed   
  
upstairs for bed. He made a short pit stop at Alex's room, smiling softly as he surveyed his   
  
sleeping son had kicked away most of the sheet. He righted the sheets before closing the door   
  
and heading off to his room.  
  
As he stripped down to his boxers and slid into bed, he hoped he would have a dreamless sleep.  
  
No such luck, of course….  
  
TBC…  
  
A/N: Well, if it's TBC that depends entirely on how many reviews I get. Just a few things: As you   
  
can probably tell, I know absolutely nothing about the characters or what happened when Stiles   
  
and Terri slept together for the first time, so I just made something up. Trust me, if I knew, the   
  
dialogue would have been a lot cleverer. Anyways, if you like, when you review you can post   
  
what actually happened, and I'll revise the chapter. Well, I'm out for the moment. Ciao!  
  
P.S: Thank you to those who actually *did* review! 


	5. Chapter 5

Show: The Agency  
  
Title: The American Family: Chapter 5  
  
Disclaimer: See Chapter 1  
  
A/N: Thanks so much for the wonderful comments, and I apologise for the delay, but as I've   
  
mentioned, I've been really busy with my exams. Most of my reviewers have pointed out a few   
  
things: He's called Stiles more than A.B. (well noted, thanks) and that Stiles and Terri pretty much   
  
just humped each other on the yacht deck in Nice… not Capri (thanks a lot as well, especially to   
  
Dawn who helped me out with that amazing site, and Mackena for inviting me to her site as   
  
well… thanks a bunch.) BTW… The Agency's been cancelled… isn't that horrible? ::sniffle:: What   
  
ever will I do with my Saturday nights?  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Dappled sunlight filtered through the leafy green oak in Terri's front yard, spilling sunlight through   
  
the filmy curtains that fluttered in the breeze at the window high above her bed. It had been   
  
incredibly balmy last night and the fan hadn't helped matters much because she was still waiting   
  
for her procrastinator electrician to fix her air-conditioning.  
  
The warm breeze flitted across Terri's body as she laid on top the covers, her nightgown tangled   
  
along her thighs. A soft smile graced her face as her mind still carted her through an exquisite   
  
dream that, for once, was not occupied with a certain blue-eyed CIA agent. Instead, sea green   
  
eyes, and a cheeky smile barreled through her mind, thoughts of a modern-day gentleman… a   
  
knight in shining armor; well she'd have to settle for a shiny Mercedes.  
  
The smile widened and Terri felt herself slowly waking up. Her smile stayed in place as she   
  
realized how incredibly corny that last thought was, and how adolescent her actions were. She'd   
  
never felt this way with anyone before – certainly not with Jeff, and she hadn't actually been   
  
involved with Stiles enough to know if anything like this was capable with another man. It felt   
  
good…really good.  
  
Terri stretched luxuriously, her back arching like a cat as she tried to work out the kinks of last   
  
night's sleep from her body. Everything had been at peace last night and it all happened to do   
  
with Michael O'Leary.   
  
Just then, the shrill ringing of the phone on her bedside table startled Terri from her reverie.   
  
Frowning slightly, she answered, wondering who could be calling her so early. She was   
  
pleasantly surprised.  
  
"Hello?" asked Terri, glancing at her clock – 7:15, the bold digital letters read.  
  
"Terri?" The sound of Michael's deep baritone washing over her senses brought another smile to   
  
her lips.  
  
"Michael?"  
  
"Yes. I hope I'm not calling too early."  
  
"No, no not at all, I was just about to get out of bed," she lied, as she ran a hand through her   
  
sleep-rumpled hair. "I just didn't expect to hear from you so soon is all."  
  
Michael chuckled. "Well, I did promise to call you."  
  
Terri shared his laugh. "That you did."  
  
Michael cleared his throat. "What are you up to this morning?"  
  
Terri shrugged. "I don't know," she answered. "Why?"  
  
"Well I was wondering if you'd like to have breakfast with me this morning. I know a great little   
  
place by the lake, they have the best sausage. Do you like sausage?" he sounded like an anxious   
  
teenager.  
  
This endearing thought of Michael O'Leary as an unsure adolescent brought another smile to her   
  
face. "As a matter of fact, I love sausage."  
  
"So can I take that as a yes?"  
  
"Yes, you may."  
  
"Great! Is eight o' clock good for you?"  
  
Terri's eyes widened. Eight o'clock?! That only gave her like forty minutes to get ready! How the   
  
hell was she supposed to do that?! Of course, the great actress in Terri Lowell allowed her to   
  
answer a bit more gracefully. "Sure. Eight o' clock's fine," she replied mildly.  
  
"Ok, I'll pick you up then. Oh, and Terri…?  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"I really did have a great time last night," Michael added, his voice deepening an octave and   
  
sending a shiver down her spine, and he terminated the phone with a click before she could reply.  
  
Terri could not believe it, but she actually found herself blushing. Her mouth quirked up at the   
  
edges as she replaced the receiver and bounded out of bed. She barely had about half an hour to   
  
get ready!  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Terri's morning had been phenomenal, and the way things were going the night was shaping up   
  
to be just as incredible as well. The "little place by the lake" had turned out to be an exquisite little   
  
Café/Patisserie. The sausage was just as delicious as Michael had described and the coffee had   
  
been absolutely divine. Coupled with flaky buttery croissants and fresh preserves and great   
  
conversation, Terri felt as though she was in heaven.  
  
It was amazing how comfortable she felt around Michael. The mood was light and she could feel   
  
herself slowly relaxing around him and opening up. Of course the CIA agent in her cautioned her   
  
to be careful, as there obviously were things about her life that couldn't share with him for obvious   
  
reasons, but what she could, made the bridge between them certainly shorter.  
  
Breakfast had ended with them taking an early morning stroll around the paths by the lake and   
  
another invitation to dinner, which Terri graciously accepted, of course.  
  
Now, she was back at home, wiping down the counters in the kitchen after putting the wildflowers   
  
she and Michael had picked by the lake in one of her favourite vases. She glanced up at the   
  
kitchen clock – 11:00. Perhaps she should check up on Stiles and Alex.  
  
Wiping her hands clean, she picked up the cordless phone and dialed the familiar number. She   
  
let it ring six times before Stiles' husky voice, slightly distorted by the electronics, came over the   
  
answering machine:  
  
"This is Stiles. I'm obviously not here, but leave a message and I'll think about getting back to   
  
you."  
  
Terri's eyes rolled as she listened to the immature message, but waited patiently until till the   
  
mechanical tone indicated that she could start her message. "Stiles, this is Terri. Glad to see   
  
you've grown up, by the way," she started sarcastically. "Where are you two monsters, huh? I'm   
  
home right now, so when you get this message, you'd *better* call back," she threatened. "By the   
  
way," she continued much gentler, "Give my little man a kiss for me, will you?"  
  
Shaking her head, Terri put down the phone and headed to her laptop. There were some files on   
  
her private disks that she needed to double-check before filing her report to Joshua. Terri sat   
  
down at the ordered desk and logged into her private CIA files, and she reached into the drawer   
  
for the CD's.   
  
Her thoughts were so concerned about her impending date with Michael later that night that she   
  
didn't even realize that the disk was not where she'd had it last.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
In the dark cold basement of an abandoned basement close to the docks, a short nondescript   
  
man sat comfortably watching the surveillance of the beautiful woman on the many screens   
  
before him. A half-eaten doughnut and a cup of sloppy coffee sat next to him, as he adjusted the   
  
headphones on his ears.  
  
He'd been watching her for the last hour, and so far nothing interesting had occurred. She'd   
  
cleaned the kitchen, put away some flowers… nothing earth shattering. He was getting bored. He   
  
turned a sleepy eye towards the footsteps that came towards him, echoing gloomily off the walls   
  
in the near silence.  
  
"I see you've got it up an' runnin', Paddy," came the Irish brogue from the shadows. The visitor   
  
clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder.  
  
Paddy smiled, "Aye. If it weren't you, John-boy, I'd be insulted by the implication. O'course I got it   
  
runnin'. Whyever I'm 'ere for, though I don' know, John-boy. The lass ain' done nothing."  
  
John-boy sat in the vacant seat next to Paddy and slipped another set of headphones on as he   
  
watched the woman putter around the kitchen. "Great ye are wi' electronics an' such Paddy, but   
  
you ain' got a lick of patience. Is only been an hour since you bugged 'er."  
  
Paddy laughed. John-boy was right. He watched as the woman made some more calls before   
  
drifting down the hallway to her office. Paddy perked up as the woman booted up the laptop that   
  
was lying on the desk. They had been unable to access the files without her knowing it had been   
  
tampered with.  
  
John-boy paid as close attention as Paddy did. "Zoom in," he commanded. Paddy did so, but the   
  
woman was blocking the screen.  
  
"Damnit! I can't see a thing!"  
  
Unknowingly, Terri was blocking the two men from seeing her access her CIA files from her cover   
  
file at the Department of Commerce. A move that had unwittingly saved her life….  
  
TBC…  
  
A/N: R&R guys, tell me what you thought. (Mackena, if you're here, how can I upload my story to   
  
the site?) 


	6. Chapter 6

Show: The Agency Title: The American Family: Chapter 6 Pairing: A.B. Stiles/Terri Lowell Disclaimer: See Chapter 1  
  
A/N: Sorry about the delay folks, but I had a bad case of writers block, and I'm also coming down with a bug of some sort. But I got some inspiration from a great writer by the name of Kusuma, who is a fanfic author for "The Agency". Thank you for your comments, keep 'em coming please, and enjoy!  
  
*~*~*~*~*~* The remainder of Terri's weekend had been pretty uneventful. She had finished some work, cleaned the house, then treated her self with a little shopping downtown, before coming back home to see her answering machine light flashing. It had been Michael, calling to apologise - he wouldn't be able to make it tonight - something had come up, but he would call her on Sunday.  
  
Terri had been admittedly disappointed, but that freed up some time to check up on Stiles and Alex, but still no one had answered the telephone. She wasn't worried - A.B.2 would be safe with his father. If anything, she was more curious as to what they were up to than anything else.  
  
He had finally called back Sunday afternoon to tell her he would be dropping Alex off later that evening. When asked where the hell they had been all weekend, he chuckled and replied he had taken Alex fishing with his downstairs neighbour Seamus O'Reilly and his grandson Matthew. Terri laughed along with him as he recounted how they had been practically marooned in the middle of the lake in Seamus's rickety old fishing boat for six hours, and all they had to show for it was an old boot and a rubber tire with a slow leak.  
  
It had not been uncomfortable those few minutes - they had actually had a civil conversation that had not dissolved into a screaming match, and it felt *good*. Terri was happy. Things were finally going good it seemed.  
  
She had no idea how wrong she was.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~* CIA Headquarters, Monday morning, 8:30 a.m.  
  
It was Monday morning again, time for yet another meeting with the OTS and IRT. On the agenda today was the elusive Sumac Cell, causing so much trouble in Northern Europe, particularly battle-scarred Northern Ireland.  
  
"The Sumac Cell," announced Carl Reese, flipping on the video hologram before them. Gory images of mangled and burnt building and cars, dreary skies and streets filled with crying, shell-shocked people greeted their eyes. "Not much is know about them as you all know. they are quite reclusive. nothing is know about them but what they want us to know," he continued, as he scrolled through the images.  
  
"They're Irish," spoke out Stiles. "Catholic. reformists. violent." he continued. "They limit their 'activities' to predominantly Protestant regions of Ireland and Northern Europe."  
  
Gage nodded his head, and Stiles continued. "They've been fairly quiet in the past couple of years. ever since Northern Ireland elected a Catholic Prime Minister in the last election. What I don't get is what this has to do with us." He shot Gage and Quinn an expectant look.  
  
Terri looked at the two leaders with the same expectancy.  
  
Gage cleared his throat. "Well. it doesn't have anything to do with us. yet."  
  
Terri lifted an eyebrow, curious about his cryptic answer. Joshua asked the question niggling at the back of her mind. "What do you mean, 'yet'?"  
  
"What has the intelligence community worried is the fact that we know so little about them," Carl answered. "Like Agent Stiles said, we only know what they want us to know. All efforts to learn more have been 'eliminated'. No one can get close to them. That in itself is worrying - we have a potential enemy out there, but yet we know absolutely nothing about it. Also, where are they? They've seemingly disappeared off the face of the earth. no bombings, no kidnappings, no contact. nothing."  
  
"What are you worried about then?" The question came Jackson.  
  
Quinn turned to look at his colleague, "What might happen if they choose to resurface."  
  
Terri was confused: she still didn't understand.  
  
"Do you think they might have specific targets?" asked Stiles.  
  
Carl nodded and flipped the hologram monitor once more. The image of Martin Archer, the U.S Special Peace Envoy to Northern Ireland, filled the screen. "Martin Archer," announced Carl. "You all know who he is. You also know he was part of the team that helped engineer the peace process in Northern Ireland three years ago. He was on hand at the election and it was well known in the intelligence community that although the esteemed Mr. Archer claimed to be fair and balanced, he is a devout Protestant. and had on many an occasion voiced his wish that the first Prime Minister of a united Northern Ireland be a Protestant.  
  
"With Northern Ireland approaching its second election since peace was established, the President thought it prudent that we send an envoy to help oversee the proceedings and keep the peace between Sinn Fein and The Orange Brigade."  
  
"Lemme guess," spoke up Joshua, "that lucky envoy is none other than Martin Archer?"  
  
"The one and only," replied Gage, taking over for his deputy. "He has not exactly made friends with either side in Ireland, particularly the IRA and the Sumac Cell. We have reason to believe that if Archer goes to Ireland, The Sumac Cell might resurface and disaster might ensue."  
  
"I don't get it, sir," spoke up a very baffled Terri. "If you think that sending Archer to Ireland is going to cause so much trouble, why send him in the first place?"  
  
Gage rolled his eyes, "That's a question I've asked myself on numerous occasions. But the truth of the matter is, although 'privately' Archer may be a prejudiced bastard, 'publicly' he's among the best in the field."  
  
"Seems to be more trouble than he's worth," muttered Stiles.  
  
"What do you want us to do?" asked Joshua.  
  
"Keep on them. Find out about the political atmosphere in Northern Europe. anything you can find. IRA, Orange Brigade. whatever you can find. Find our deep-covers over them, see what they can tell us. most of all, try to find out about that damned Sumac Cell!"  
  
TBC.  
  
A/N: Oy, I hate this chapter! R&R, please, but please be nice. 


	7. Chapter 7

Show: The Agency Title: The American Family: Chapter 7 Disclaimer: See Chapter 1  
  
A/N: I'm really sorry for the delay. more writers' block. I really miss the show:^( I'm glad to see that you liked the last chapter although I didn't. mostly because I don't know much about the whole Northern Ireland situation. merely improvising. Anyways. enough with the rambling, enjoy!  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
"I'm glad you were able to take a rain check."  
  
Terri smiled softly and tipped her head back to gaze at Michael's smiling green eyes. "So am I."  
  
Michael had called her as soon as she had stepped through the door that Monday evening, and had invited her out for drinks. She had cautioned that they would have to keep this date short because it was a weeknight and she would be taking care of her son. Luckily for her, she had been able to arrange for Alex to spend the evening at his play-date's house, where he would have dinner before Terri could pick him up around eight.  
  
Much to her delight, drinks had turned into dinner and dancing, and Terri found herself once again snug in the warm embrace of Michael's arms. The song ended and Michael escorted her back to their booth style table in the 50's era bistro.  
  
"It's getting late," announced Terri looking at her watch. "I have to go pick up my son soon."  
  
Michael sighed regretfully, but nodded in agreement. "Of course." He paid the bill and taking her arm, escorted her to her car. Under the pale moonlight, he turned to face her.  
  
"Wow, suddenly I wish you didn't have to go."  
  
Terri smiled. She didn't want to go either. she was having such a wonderful time in his company. But duty calls. "Neither do I. But I've got to go."  
  
"I know," he replied huskily. Terri smiled again as he leaned down and brushed his lips over hers. It was a gentle almost tentative kiss. as though he were asking for her permission to deepen the kiss. Terri opened her lips under his, allowing his tongue access to her mouth. He didn't push her, and she gave as much as she got. Terri could feel the butterflies fluttering in her stomach. She had only ever felt the way once before - with Stiles.  
  
Michael pulled away, a smile on his face. "Wow."  
  
"Wow," Terri echoed, blushing like a schoolgirl.  
  
"I'll definitely want the opportunity to do that more often," he joked, stroking her cheek gently.  
  
"So would I."  
  
"Great." He took the keys from her hands and unlocked the door for her. "I'll call you later, ok?"  
  
Terri got in the SUV and shut the door. "Great."  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
In the deep bowels of the warehouse basement, Jonathan O'Brien sat broodingly staring at the computer screen before him. The standard ID issue picture of the woman was much more flattering than it should have been, and he felt that she was even more beautiful in person.  
  
Name: Terri Lowell nee Anderson D.O.B: May 16 1969 Birthplace: Fargo Marital Status: Divorced - former husband: Jeffrey Lowell Next of kin: Alexander Bryan Stiles (son); Matthew Anderson (brother) Occupation: Graphic Designer, U.S Department of Commerce  
  
Bio.  
  
The rest of the dossier was filled with the rest of the fabricated cover story from the CIA. Of course this was unknown to John-boy, or any of his associates. They wanted something from Terri Lowell, Graphic Designer extraordinaire. they wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet in Terri Lowell, CIA agent.  
  
"Beautiful ain't she?"  
  
The question came from Paddy, who had returned from his junk food excursion.  
  
John-boy cracked a smile. "She's alrigh' I guess."  
  
Paddy snorted. "Ye mean alrigh' for an American lass, eh?"  
  
John-boy returned his laugh. His friend was right.  
  
"I still don' unnerstan' what's so interestin' 'bout this lass. What the hell's so interestin' 'bout a blinkin' Graphics Artis'?"  
  
"Oh, ye of little faith. ye'll unnerstan' in good time. Jus' keep an eye on the lass."  
  
Paddy turned a shrewd eye on his friend. "Ye be wantin' to reel the lass in fer somethin' don'tcha?"  
  
John-boy chuckled. "Ye nevah give up, do ye, Paddy?"  
  
"I do, when it makes sense tha' is. We be wastin' our time surveillin' the lass.. She don' be doin' nothin' worth lookin' at at home, anyways. Whatevah it is yer lookin' fer. ye ain' gonna find it there."  
  
John-boy's forehead wrinkled in thought. "I guess yer right, Paddy. But it ain' up to me. We know what she does at work. Tha's why we're so interested. Tell you what, Paddy. you watch 'er some more. The lass don' do nothin' and we'll bug 'er at work, alrigh'?"  
  
"Fine," Paddy grumbled. "But I still think we're wastin' our time."  
  
"Well we get paid don't we?"  
  
Paddy chuckled, as he put back on his headphones. "I guess ye got a point there, mate."  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
OTS Offices, CIA Headquarters, Tuesday morning (9:00 a.m.)  
  
Terri had come to work earlier than usual that morning, all in an effort to see what she could dig up on the Sumac Cell. As expected, the search came up fruitless, but that didn't halt her frustration. Maybe Lex would be more helpful. it he would drag his butt to work earlier, that is!  
  
"Any luck?"  
  
Terri looked up to see Jackson Haisley standing over her with an expectant look on his face. She shook her head. "Nope. I can't seem to find anything new. I had a link with our operatives in Northern Ireland, but the search came up cold. No one's heard a word from them in almost two years, Jackson. It's like they dropped off the face of the Earth."  
  
Jackson's forehead wrinkled, and he took a seat across from Terri. "I don't understand. Terrorist groups don't just disappear, Terri."  
  
Terri shrugged. "There's a first time for everything. Maybe we're taking this too seriously. Maybe they intend to stay buried, and Martin Archer going to Northern Ireland is not going to change anything."  
  
Jackson lifted a brow.  
  
"I know, I know. That's an idealistic hope, but stranger things have happened."  
  
"Indeed. but I don't like it."  
  
"I don't like it either," Terri heaved a sigh. "There's one more channel I haven't tried."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Allison O'Connor." Terri typed up a series of commands and brought up a classified file on screen. "She's a deep cover agent in The Orange Brigade. Strictly on a need to know basis. I stumbled on her file when I was doing something for Quinn. I confronted him. didn't get much out of him. Anyways. she's only in contact every three months. she's due for a briefing in less than forty-eight hours. I'll speak to Quinn. who knows, maybe she might be able to tell us something."  
  
Jackson shrugged, his features thoughtful. "I hope so, Terri. I don't like this not knowing and Martin Archer leaves for Ireland in under two weeks."  
  
Terri returned his feelings. "I'll try. But I can't promise anything."  
  
"Good. I'll speak to some old contacts of mine in Dublin," he replied, getting up from his seat. "They have some favours that need to be repaid."  
  
TBC.  
  
A/N: That's it for now. R&R people. Since mentioning the whole Ireland thing, people have been asking me if they're going to go to Ireland, where apparently they had their first date. That is a possibility, but since I know so very much about their romantic history, can someone give me the low- down on what happened? Thanks. Bye for now:^)  
  
P.S: I had to do some major editing for that potty-mouth of mine. I've been a good girl so far, haven't I? 


	8. Chapter 8

Show: The Agency  
  
Title: The American Family  
  
Disclaimer: See Chapter 1  
  
Archive: Yes. Just let me know where it is going, please; it's simple politeness to do so.  
  
A/N: Sorry for the delay, yet again. My computer was playing the backside as usual. I'm glad to see that you liked the last chapter, and that the whole story in general is keeping you all interested. Keep sharing those comments; I love to hear from you all.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
CIA Headquarters, (one week later) 9:00 a.m.  
  
Another week had passed with some furious intelligence gathering efforts, and yet nothing new had been uncovered. Terri was worried when Allison O'Connor hadn't called in when scheduled on Thursday and she had relayed her fears to Quinn, who played it down citing that it had happened before.  
  
"Allison's a good operative," he had said. "She'll call in as soon as she can."  
  
The weekend had come and gone, nothing spectacular intelligence wise had occurred, but it was Monday morning yet again, time for the weekly meeting and yet, Allison O'Connor still had not called in. When her handler called into Quinn that morning, even he started to get worried - Allison had never been out of contact for so long.  
  
The one bright spot on the day was the report that the election date had been reset, so Martin Archer's trip to Northern Ireland had been put on hold for the time being. Gage had tried over the weekend to convince the President to send someone else but had been sorely put in his place: "Martin wouldn't need any friggin' help if you CIA boys would do what the damn tax payers pay you to do!"  
  
Gage stood at the head of the conference table, his deputy Carl Reese to his right, Quinn to his left, looking over the team. Joshua and Lex sat next to Terri, while Stiles and Jackson sat on the other side of the table. Lex had set up a laptop at the desk, and was currently linked to one of their deep cover agents in Ireland, beating the camel with the same stick, with the same results: nothing.  
  
"Anyone found anything?" Gage asked finally, although he already knew the answer was no.  
  
Lex and Joshua shook their heads. Stiles and Jackson didn't even bother to answer. Terri's brow wrinkled. Despite what Quinn told her last week, she was still worried. Her stomach churned every time she thought of the woman across the seas. Something was not quite right, but she couldn't figure out what. Quinn had asked her not to let Gage know that she knew about Allison, but she figured the Director would be just as worried as she was.  
  
"Well sir," she spoke up tentatively, glancing at Quinn as she did so.  
  
Quinn frowned. He knew what she was going to say, and he disapproved, but he truly was worried about the Agent. He nodded from his corner, silently giving Terri permission to continue.  
  
"There was one more channel that we didn't try. Well, that's not the correct wording. We tried, but we couldn't get through."  
  
Director Gage looked puzzled. Joshua, Lex, Carl and Stiles all shared the same look. Only Jackson seemed to know what Terri was getting at. "What do you mean, Ms. Lowell?"  
  
Terri cleared her throat. "There's an operative by the name of Allison O'Connor who's a deep-cover in the Orange Brigade." At the mentioning of Allison's name, Carl and Gage looked at her in surprise, then over at Quinn who simply shrugged his shoulders. Terri continued, " She was to be in contact with her handler last week Thursday at approximately 1:00 a.m. EST. I put in a request to the Agent to ask her about the Sumac Cell. The Orange Brigade and Sumac Cell as you know are bitter enemies. So she might have known something that we don't. It's been five days, sir," she continued, "and Agent O'Connor still hasn't called in."  
  
Gage frowned. "I know that Ms. Lowell. the question is, how do you?"  
  
Terri's frown matched his own, "Does it matter, sir?" she asked.  
  
"No, I guess not."  
  
"So what are we going to do, now?" Jackson asked.  
  
"All the links seem to be cold," spoke up Stiles from his corner. "I even spoke to Danny and my Grandfather, but not even they know anything. What I guess I'm trying to say is, that probably not even the other terrorist groups know anything about them. They take aim, fire and disappear like smoke, and *that* is what makes them so dangerous."  
  
"Well at least Archer's departure for Ireland has been postponed," said Lex hopefully. "That's a good thing, right?"  
  
Stiles shook his head. "I'm not so sure about that," he replied.  
  
"Why wouldn't it be?" asked a confused Lex. "It gives us more time to dig, or to at least beef up security for him."  
  
"What do you think those groups are going take an election postponement as?" Stiles continued.  
  
"A sign of weakness," finished up Terri, making eye contact with Stiles.  
  
Those few seconds of eye contact caused the air to sizzle between them, and Stiles felt his stomach churning. Terri looked away. "Exactly," he continued.  
  
"What do you mean, Agent Stiles?" asked Gage, inviting him to continue.  
  
"Prime Minister Thompson has had a tough time at it," he continued, standing up to pace the room, gathering his thoughts. "He's had to deal with religious violence, a flagging economy, hassle from both the US and Britain, and he's done a pretty good job. But there are those of us who don't think he's done a good enough job, and most of them are sitting on the Opposition in the Irish Parliament.  
  
"They've been doing everything, especially in the past couple of months, to really shake the foundation of the Party: no confidence motion after no confidence motion; vetoing bills, refusal to sign decrees. basically holding up the show for Thompson and the Catholic party. He's not getting half of the things he promised done, and the people are angry: protests, strikes, looting. it's a mad house. The perfect opportunity for some madcap terrorist group to slip in, set off a few car bombs, or loot a few churches, and really get the rabble stirred up.  
  
"It'll seem like they can't trust a Catholic government to care for the people, so up goes the Protestant poll votes, and boom goes the car-bombs that the IRA will set in retaliation. We know what they'll do," he continued, pausing to look out the picture window. "It's just the fucking Sumac Cell we have to watch out for. Because when they finally decide to hit back, they'll hit hard."  
  
Terri frowned. She knew Stiles was right, and that was not a good thing.  
  
"Ok, that does it!" announced Gage. "I'm going to arrange another meeting with that idiot Bush, and try to get that sending Marty Archer to Ireland is going to be a big mistake drilled into that thick skull of his!"  
  
Gage, Quinn and Reese left the room after that, while Jackson ambled down the hall to his office. Lex, and Joshua packed up the laptop and headed back to OTS, Joshua paused to smirk at the door as he realized they had left Terri and Stiles alone.  
  
Terri slowly packed her things into her briefcase, blatantly ignoring Stiles. He scowled at her behaviour, but tried to keep a leash on his temper.  
  
"How was your weekend?" he asked pleasantly.  
  
Terri, who was lifting the strap of her briefcase to her shoulder paused and looked at him in mild surprise. "It was fine," she replied warily, turning to face him.  
  
"Just fine?" he continued, coming to stand closer to her.  
  
He wasn't crowding her personal space but she felt he was too close. She stepped away so she couldn't smell the crisp clean scent of Irish Spring soap and Obsession cologne that clung to him, causing the butterflies to illicitly start fluttering in her stomach. "Yes," she replied. Terri's eyes narrowed as she took stock of the man standing before her. "Why so curious?"  
  
Stiles grinned. "So I can't ask how your weekend went without getting the third degree?" he meant the question to come off lightly, but the in the face of Terri's still narrowed eyes, he had a vague feeling he failed.  
  
"The only person getting the third degree is *me*, Stiles," Terri replied tartly, turning her back on him and preparing to leave the room.  
  
Stiles didn't want the conversation to be over so soon. "So you're not even gonna tell me his name?"  
  
Terri paused again, whipping to face him, frustration evident on her face. "Now, why on Earth would I do that, Stiles?"  
  
He shrugged lightly, playing it off in typical indifferent fashion. "I'm just curious to know who this guy is that's got you all in a dither," he replied, quite proud of himself for saying that without a degree of bitterness in his voice. He was a true master of hiding his emotions, especially over a certain brown-eyed girl.  
  
Terri flushed lightly. "I resent that implication. Not that it's any of your business, but his name is Michael. Michael O'Leary. There, are you satisfied? Can I leave now?" she asked sarcastically.  
  
"He's Irish? What do you know about this guy?"  
  
Terri heaved a frustrated sigh. "What difference does it make if he's Irish or not? It's not like he's some radical terrorist with evil designs, Stiles!" she exploded, walking out and slamming the conference door shut behind her.  
  
Left alone in the conference room, Stiles scowled before jerking open the door and heading down the hallway to his seldom used office. Sitting at his computer, he opened the search drive, and searched for: O'Leary, Michael.  
  
A few seconds later, the desired file opened up. His scowl deepened as he gazed at the face behind the name. Hot jealousy roiled in his stomach as his eyes narrowed at the photo that accompanied the dossier:  
  
Name: Michael Patrick O'Leary  
  
D.O.B: August 10th 1965  
  
Birthplace: Boston, Mass.  
  
Marital Status: Widower - Deceased wife: Fiona O'Leary nee O'Brien  
  
Next of kin: Jason O'Leary (brother); Liam O'Leary (uncle)  
  
Occupation: Advisor, U.S. Department of International Relations  
  
Bio.  
  
Stiles didn't have to read the rest of the dossier to know that Michael was a clean-cut, educated pencil pusher. A bureaucrat! He thought Terri had better taste than that! The other part of his mind argued that Michael O'Leary was exactly the type of guy that Terri was attracted to: he was good-looking, educated, well-traveled, and probably liked classical music and the opera! Stiles furiously closed the file and lay back in his chair. How the hell could he compete with someone like that?  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Later that night after feeding, bathing and putting Alex to bed, Terri relaxed on the couch with a very well deserved half-pint of Ben and Jerry's. Spoon in mouth, she flipped on the television and started channel surfing.  
  
Something on the BBC caught her eye, and raising the volume, her eyes grew wider, and the spoon dropped from her mouth to fall unchecked on the carpet.  
  
"And in news from Northern Ireland today, the decomposing body of an unidentified blonde female was found hanging from a cross mounted in Mourning Alley, the no man's land between predominantly Catholic and Protestant neighbourhoods of Oberside and Neely's Land in Belfast. The woman was apparently dead for at least three days. We'll have more details as they come in.  
  
"And in other news.."  
  
The world stopped for Terri, as she continued to stare at the television screen. The story had changed: rising oil prices for Western Europe, but all she could see in her mind's eye was the bloated, blue body of the missing Agent: Allison O'Connor.  
  
TBC.  
  
A/N: Well, R&R, tell me what you thought. I'm sorry if my comments on President Bush offended anyone - it was part of the story. As many of you know, relations between operatives and politicians aren't the best, so I thought that although Gage is a former Senator, that's how he would react. I also apologise for my potty mouth - if that was in the show, it would have been censored. Bye for now, keep the comments coming, please. 


	9. Chapter 9

Show: The Agency  
  
Title: The American Family  
  
Disclaimer: See Chapter 1  
  
A/N: As usual, the opening line is: "Sorry for the delay." and I am sorry: I was at my friend's house all week and, while I had written this chapter last week it was on my computer so I couldn't upload. But anyway, thanks for last chapter's comments and keep them coming please.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
The next day, a very shell-shocked Terri made her way into work. She mechanically passed her briefcase through the scanner and passed through the metal-detector before taking the items back from the guard without her customary smile of gratitude.  
  
As she shouldered her way out of the elevator onto her floor, her mind was on anything but work as she mechanically moved down the hall to the OTS Department. As usual, at that time in the morning, the office was empty but, when Terri set her briefcase down on the desk and rebooted the computer, she turned around to find she had a visitor: Quinn.  
  
"Jesus!" started Terri. "You scared me, sir."  
  
"That was not my intention, Ms. Lowell," he replied placidly, stepping fully into the room.  
  
"What can I do for you, sir?" she asked. Quinn had a way of intimidating almost everyone, including her.  
  
"I suppose you saw the news last night, Ms. Lowell?"  
  
Terri nodded and exhaled heavily. "Yes, I did." She paused, "Did you know before it hit the news?"  
  
Quinn shook his head. "About ten minutes before the media ran the story, I got a call from Agent O'Connor's handler. He said he got a call from another one of his packages at three a.m. GMT yesterday morning. He's deep in another faction of the Brigade as well and the handler asked him if she was at the scheduled Brigade meeting in South Belfast. Apparently, Agent O'Connor left North Belfast on Wednesday with her faction as scheduled, which was the reason she hadn't called in. The meeting was due to start on Friday at 7:00 p.m. GMT, but neither Agent O'Connor nor her faction leader showed up, but the second-in-command represented that particular faction. When asked about his leader's whereabouts, he smiled and said taking care of business. The faction leader eventually did show up the next day, minus Agent O'Connor."  
  
"Crap!" broke in Terri. "She'd been gone since Friday!"  
  
Quinn nodded thoughtfully. "Her cover had been blown, Ms. Lowell. The question is, how?"  
  
Terri shook her head negatively. "I don't know. Say, Quinn, did O'Connor's handler have the presence of mind to ask his other package about the Sumac Cell."  
  
"That's what I initially came here for, Ms. Lowell. Apparently at the meeting, they discussed possible worst-case scenarios for when the election date was reset. Particularly, how to retaliate against pro-Catholic groups. Naturally, the IRA came up, as well as the Sumac Cell."  
  
"What about them?"  
  
"The CIA aren't the only people who have moles dissolved in terrorist groups, Ms. Lowell. Somehow the Brigade managed to swipe an info-link to a member: Jonathan O'Brien."  
  
Terri's brow wrinkled. "That name sounds familiar."  
  
"He's the only visual link we've ever captured of the Cell."  
  
"Fat lot that did," muttered Terri bitterly. "O'Brien's a master of disguise."  
  
"Exactly. The link they had on O'Brien disappeared for a couple of hours one day, when it started to blink again, the Brigade decided to pay him a little visit. Only when the finally caught up to the source, they found their mole floating face down in Dundee Bog."  
  
"O'Brien disappeared again," Terri surmised. At Quinn's nod, she asked, "Do they have any idea where he might be?"  
  
Quinn frowned. "Yes, as a matter of fact, they do."  
  
"Where is he?" Terri asked.  
  
"Here. Right here in America."  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Quinn's announcement hadn't sat well with Terri, and it hadn't gone over well with the rest of the OTS and IRT as well. Joshua and Lex sat at their stations furiously establishing American links for an APB of some sorts on Jonathan O'Brien.  
  
Terri on the other hand, sat at her computer immersed in the Graphics program she had helped Joshua to create and engineer. It was a computer image generator of some sort, but much more realistic and detailed than the ordinary image enhancers employed by other law agencies.  
  
The only photo they'd captured of Jonathan O'Brien lay open in the Image Bank. For several minutes, Terri stared at the photo with the naked eye. If she'd seen this man walking down the street, she wouldn't have batted an eyelid - he looked more like a Wall Street yuppie than a overzealous pro- Catholic terrorist. His dark hair was neatly combed, with a side part. His blue eyes were clear, if a bit frosty; his skin dark and a bit swarthy, lending the air of a man who liked to be outdoors on the weekends; his mouth was beautifully molded, not too thin, nor too thick. He was a handsome man and, if she had seen him on the street and didn't know what a snake he was, Terri would have found herself attracted to him. That was what made him so dangerous - he was so beautiful - but what would make him too easy to remember, which was why he was constantly changing his appearance.  
  
Narrowing her eyes, Terri typed in a series of commands and a neon orange molding grid showed over O'Brien's image. On examining the photo, Terri had come up with a series of discrepancies: his hair was too starkly dark, as well as his skin; any bet the frosty blue eyes were contacts. The photo was a little outdated as well - O'Brien was bound to have aged a little in the past seven years.  
  
Terri felt someone behind someone behind her shoulder, and looked up to see Stiles looking at the screen intently.  
  
"What are you doing?" he asked.  
  
Terri indicated he should take a seat beside her. "I'm using the Image Enhancer on Jonathan O'Brien. His photo's a little outdated, but it's all we've got to work with."  
  
Stiles stared at the photo. "What's wrong with it?" he asked. "He looks the regular Joe."  
  
Terri chuckled. "Regular Joe he is not, Stiles, he's too beautiful to ever be considered 'regular'."  
  
Stiles scowled.  
  
"Use those Marine powers of observation, Stiles," she suggested. "Look at the photo carefully. Can't you see the discrepancies in the picture?"  
  
Stiles did as she suggested. Finally after a few seconds of silent observation, they started to seemingly appear before his eyes. "Yeah, look," he said pointing to the image, "his skin's too dark-like he smoothed it on from a bottle."  
  
"What else?"  
  
"His hair? It's too dark as well."  
  
Terri nodded and smiled. "Exactly. This photo was taken in November 2000, right before the Parliament bombing. Back then the Sumac Cell was still a small fish in the sea of pro-Catholic groups. They didn't have the funds or resources that they have now. But they *did* have the uncanny ability to disappear like smoke whenever they needed to. Selection was limited and exclusive. Getting this picture taken was the only mistake Jonathan O'Brien ever made. And he more than made up for it with his recent disguises. Until he disappeared again."  
  
"And decided to resurface here in America."  
  
"Right." Terri's fingers flew across the keyboard again, and the grid image enlarged, filling the screen.  
  
"What are you going to do now?" asked Stiles.  
  
"I'm gonna call up the detector. It can detect inorganic hues on human images-that can tell us if our hunch about his skin colour was correct or not." As she spoke, O'Brien's swarthy skin turned from deep tan to neon green.  
  
"What does that mean?"  
  
"It means we were right," Terri replied with a smile.  
  
"So now what?"  
  
Terri typed in some more commands and the grid image rapidly decolourised from green to the original swarthy colour of the photo before gradually fading to a more normal shade. When the photo stopped decolourising, Jonathan O'Brien was about 6 shades paler.  
  
"What did you do?"  
  
"I simply decolourised his skin colour by the percentage the bottle tan had increased it by. Pretty simple."  
  
Stiles looked thoughtful. "Can you do the same thing for his hair?"  
  
Terri nodded. "Sure can." A few more commands to the computer, and O'Brien's unrealistic mane was highlighted as well. The grid enhanced the image, and a colour sample came up on screen. A series of names flitted across the screen before the correct box stopped in front of them: Ivory Black 604 Just for Men Hair Cream. Terri checked the percentage increase, typed in the appropriate command and O'Brien's hair started to fade again, to a very mousy ginger.  
  
Terri's nose wrinkled at the new image they were confronted with. "Whoa. Who ever knew how much hair-dye could do for a person?"  
  
With the simple loss of the dark hair and swarthy skin, Jonathan O'Brien had been transformed from classically beautiful to the Regular Joe Stiles had accused him of being. He was still handsome, but not in the same arresting manner as before.  
  
"He would have much more easily forgotten if he stayed like that," admitted Stiles. "His skin colour and hair colour just don't mesh with the facial structure, though," he continued thoughtfully.  
  
"What are you saying- because he has mousy ginger hair and pale skin, he can't be handsome?"  
  
"You probably think I'm being prejudiced but can you enhance a 3-D image of him without pixels?" he asked.  
  
Terri frowned but did as he asked, bringing the enhanced image of the new Jonathan O'Brien on screen.  
  
"Profile?" he requested. Terri followed through. "Now there, under his chin, zoom in please."  
  
Terri typed in the magnification command and squinting close at the image, she could see a fine white line of scar tissue. "Scar tissue," she announced.  
  
Stiles sat back pleased with himself. "Surgical enhancement."  
  
"Don't say it!" she commanded, knowing his I-told-you-so smirk very well. Her fingers flew across the keyboard again, and the image retracted to its normal size again, and the orange grid disappeared, replaced with a red grid this time. The layer of the skin disappeared until she and Stiles were faced with a white skeleton with black lines along the bones.  
  
"See those black lines? Those are the possible areas of O'Brien's bone structure before he was sculpted. Tissue and marrow were probably taken from other parts of his body and surgically grafted to his bones. A little tuck here, and a graft here, and voila! You have the bone structure of a God.  
  
"It's sorta like a face lift for men. That's another thing I noticed about O'Brien. His skin's too tightly stretched across the bones." Terri filled in the blank areas and removed some areas until the black lines were all filled in, and once again, she typed in the commands caused Jonathan to fill the screen.  
  
Gone were the high rosy cheeks, hawk nose and cleft chin. Gaunt cheeks with high cheekbones, wide-spaced blue eyes, a slightly Romanesque nose and a chin that jutted forward slightly replaced them, but his mouth remained the same.  
  
Terri typed in the aging command, but nothing changed perceptively.  
  
Stiles' eyes widened. "That is amazing, Terri. Do you think this what he truly looks like?"  
  
Terri nodded. "We had his photo for seven years, Stiles. But we never had the technology to do this. Now we do. I really think this is him. *This* is the *real* Jonathan O'Brien." Terri paused looking at the frosty blue eyes. She had no idea those same eyes watched her at sleep each night.  
  
TBC.  
  
A/N: R&R please, I want to hear from you. 


	10. Chapter 10

Show: The Agency  
  
Title: The American Family: Chapter 10  
  
Disclaimer: See Chapter 1  
  
A/N: I'm back. I was as usual stuck in a rut as how to continue this fic. There was never a question of me not continuing, just letting you know. Thanks for last chapter's comments, keep them coming. BTW, if Kusuma or Dawn is reading this, can you email me and give me some info as how to upload this story to the Stiles_Terri archive?  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
(Picks back up right after the end of the last chapter)  
  
"Fat lot this'll do, though," she continued bitterly.  
  
Stiles frowned. "What do you mean?"  
  
"It doesn't matter if we know what he looked like then, Stiles. This photo is seven years old, and O'Brien is a master of disguise. There's no telling what he looks like now."  
  
Stiles cursed under his breath. "So now what?"  
  
Terri shrugged her shoulders despondently. "We're right back at square one."  
  
Stiles sighed, but kept hold of his temper. "So what was the point?"  
  
Terri hit a few buttons and waited for the new photo to print. "Well at least now we can circulate this photo around the Intel community and see if we get any hits."  
  
"And then?" asked Stiles, impatiently.  
  
Terri glanced up at him. "We hope for the best."  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Quinn's Office (1 hour later)  
  
Shutting the door quietly behind him, Stiles turned around to toss a thin folder on the desk before him. Quinn said nothing, opening the folder instead. Wordlessly, his practically colourless eyebrows shot up.  
  
"Who is this?"  
  
"That is a photo composition of what Jonathan O'Brien probably truly looked like seven years ago compliments of Ms. Lowell."  
  
Quinn smirked. "That girl is good," he drawled.  
  
Stiles shook his head. "That *woman* is good sir."  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Half an hour later, Stiles emerged from Quinn's office. Lex and Terri watched him anxiously as he progressed down the hall. As the tall, burly Agent passed the OTS office, he nodded his head barely and continued the hall. Lex and Terri gave smiles of triumph and turning back to their stations their fingers began to mechanically fly across the keyboards.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
CIA Headquarters (6:30 p.m.)  
  
"Ok, Lex, Joshua," announced Terri, pulling on her coat and gloves, "I'm ready to go. I need to go pick up Alex," she explained, slipping her briefcase over her shoulder. Without looking up, she crashed right into Stiles. Immediately, he gripped her arms and brought her closer to his body to keep her momentum from falling her over.  
  
The moment Terri came into full contact with the length of Stiles warm, hard body, Terri's eyes snapped up to meet his and she blushed. He smiled, his knowing little grin irritated the hell out of her.  
  
She stepped away and cleared her throat, embarrassed both by her inattentiveness and her instinctive reaction to being close to him. "Sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going."  
  
"Where are you off to?" he asked, not wanting her to just walk away. He had liked the way they worked together today – having constructive conversation together without argument; applying their mental strengths together to solve a puzzle.  
  
"Alex," she explained, the one word saying it all.  
  
Stiles smiled. "Ok. I won't keep you," he continued.  
  
Terri nodded her head and turned around, but Stiles' voice stopped her before she could make it to the elevators.  
  
"Hey, Terri?" he called.  
  
She turned around, her eyes huge in her face as she looked at him standing away from him in his customary jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt. The butterflies started fluttering, and she silently berated herself. ::Damn it!:: she was confused.  
  
"Good work," he finished.  
  
Terri smiled, and so did he. She pressed the button to the elevator and, as the building was almost empty, a car arrived almost immediately. She stepped on and turned around, only to find Stiles still there in the hallway. "Thanks," she mouthed, as the elevator doors slid shut.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
It was an entire hour later before Terri made it back home, an exhausted A.B.2 in her arms as she shut the door behind her. In the darkness, she turned to the keypad just inside the door and reset the security system before snapping on the light. Instinctively as she turned around, she knew something was not quite right.  
  
Her field operative skills leapt to the surface as her eye shrewdly swept over the living room, awash in the soft lighting from the wall scones. Her eyes swept every corner as she walked slowly around the room, Alex cradled in her arms. Visually, everything was in its place. But she could feel the tiny hairs on the back of her neck instinctively start to rise. She had the sickening feeling that she was being watched. Her eyes swept the room with renewed vigour, looking for anyplace that could hold a bug. Unbeknownst to her, her eyes rested several times on the blinds, in which lay hidden ingeniously, a tiny transparent non-metallic bug.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
In the dark dank basement of the warehouse not so far away, Paddy spilt his coffee over his ratty T-shirt as he took stock of Terri's actions.  
  
"What the fuck is she doin'!" he exclaimed, the idea that the woman might somehow find the bugs causing his panic to rise.  
  
From his corner, John-boy was equally as worried, though he hid it more tactfully. The two men watched with bated breath as Terri's eyes continually swept over the room. When the woman frowned in frustration and muttered something like, "I must going crazy or something," he let out a breath he hadn't even been aware he had been holding.  
  
As he watched the beautiful woman's progress up to her son's room where she undressed him, redressed him in his PJ's and tucked him into bed, he held her in a different light. Although she had not found the bugs and he felt no real fear that she would, he knew that she had a feeling that was being watched. And that was a dangerous thing.  
  
It was time to act.  
  
TBC…  
  
A/N: I'm sorry that the chapter is so short but I'm just happy that I was even able to write it. Things are coming to a head right now and the action should start picking up soon. Please R&R, hope to hear from you guys soon! 


	11. Chapter 11

Show: The Agency  
  
Title: The American Family: Chapter 11  
  
Disclaimer: See Chapter 1  
  
A/N: Thanks for the comments. Sorry for all the weird symbols in the last chapter… I   
  
have no idea what was up with that.   
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
McGinty's Pub (9:00 p.m. that same night)  
  
Modern, upbeat Celtic music spilled through the open door as the tall, blonde-haired man   
  
shouldered his way past a bunch of half-drunk merrymakers. He paused just inside the   
  
threshold of the bar, his cold ice-blue eyes sweeping the crowded room. He spotted his   
  
quarry, sitting with his back to the door, nursing a lager. His no nonsense stance caused   
  
the people to part like the Red Sea for him and he had no trouble making it to the empty   
  
barstool next to the man. He slid onto the barstool, caught the barkeep's eye and ordered   
  
a Guinness.  
  
As the barkeep set the dark frothy liquid in front of him he took a sip and winced in   
  
appreciation of the bitter taste.   
  
"Is there a problem?" the man asked. He spoke so softly, that without his battle-hewed   
  
hearing, John-boy would have missed the words.  
  
"Sorta," he replied, just as quietly.  
  
The man turned to him, alarm in his eyes. "What do you mean?"  
  
"The lass is gettin suspicious."  
  
He didn't have to name who he was talking about. The other man arched a bushy   
  
eyebrow. "What do you want me to do about that?"  
  
"What we set out to do in the firs' place."  
  
The other man almost choked on the sip of lager. "Already?"  
  
John-boy nodded. "She did a visual sweep for bugs… it might only be a matter of time   
  
before she actually finds 'em. I don' think we should waste anymore time. It's time we   
  
got what we came 'ere for."  
  
The man nodded. "Did you talk to the others about this? Don't you think it's too early?"  
  
"Archer leaves for Ireland soon," he replied heatedly. "We have to move now if we want   
  
to be positioned in time!" he hissed.  
  
"Calm down," reassured the other man. "I've got it under control."  
  
The look in John-boy's ice-blue eyes was pointed. "See that ye do. We want Terri Lowell   
  
by the weekend." He finished off his stout and tossed a few bills on the bar and walked   
  
away without a backward glance.   
  
The man at the bar shook his head in mild disgust and a tinge of amusement at the other   
  
man's attitude. He drained his glass as well, paid for his drink and left the bar.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
It was late Thursday morning when Terri got a call on her cell phone.   
  
"Hiya, beautiful." Michael's well-modulated baritone rushed over her ears and Terri   
  
found herself grinning.  
  
At the sudden appearance of Terri's little grin, Joshua arched an eyebrow pointedly. Terri   
  
purposely spun her back to him and she missed the curious exchange between Joshua and   
  
Lex. "Hi," she replied softly, unable to keep the smile out of her voice and off her face.   
  
"This is a surprise."  
  
"I know. But I was wondering if I could persuade you to have lunch with me this   
  
afternoon."  
  
"Lunch? This afternoon?" she was mentally running a list of things she had to do this   
  
afternoon and many plausible reasons for why she shouldn't say yes floated through her   
  
head.  
  
"Yes," he replied. "Is that a problem? I mean do you have other plans?"  
  
Terri knew she should say yes, but instead she blurted out, "No. I don't."  
  
Michael breathed a sigh of relief. "Good," he chuckled. "I'll pass by your building and   
  
pick you up."  
  
Building? Oh crap! He was talking about the Department of Commerce building, of   
  
course! Where he thought she worked. "No!" she exclaimed.  
  
"Is that a problem?" he asked.  
  
"Yes…no! I mean… on any other day it wouldn't be a problem," she lied hastily in   
  
explanation. "It's just that I've got some errands to run this afternoon as well, and it   
  
would make more sense if I took my car," she continued, nearly choking on the lie. "How   
  
about I just meet you wherever?"  
  
"Fine," he conceded slowly. "How about Mariano's? Around 12?"  
  
"Great. That's fine. I'll see you then." She terminated the call, praising the heavens for   
  
the ability to think fast on her feet.  
  
She ignored Joshua's expectant look and when the older man opened his mouth to speak,   
  
she shook her head. "Don't ask. Just don't ask."  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
At five minutes past twelve, the bow-tied waiter escorted her to a table in the far corner   
  
of the casually chic restaurant. On catching site of her, Michael stood up and kissed her   
  
cheek before pulling out her chair for her. "Hi," he said, sitting across from her. Terri   
  
smiled in response.  
  
The waiter poured her a glass of water, handed over the menus and took their drink   
  
orders before leaving them in privacy.  
  
"I must admit this is a pleasant surprise," Terri said, taking a sip of her water. "Twice in   
  
one week? I must be a very popular gal," she joked, perusing the menu.  
  
Michael grinned, his green eyes twinkling. "You certainly are."  
  
The talked a little bit of their morning before the waiter came back with Terri's glass of   
  
Zinfandel and Michael's Carlsberg. Terri ordered the grilled chicken Caesar salad and a   
  
baked potato as did Michael.  
  
"So what errands do you have to run this afternoon?" he asked.  
  
Terri looked at him in confusion. "Errands?"  
  
Michael arched an eyebrow. "Yeah. You said you had to run some errands this   
  
afternoon… that's why you drove instead of letting me pick you up."  
  
Terri flushed at her blunder. "Oh… yes, of course. I just have to pick up some stuff for   
  
my son," she muttered noncommittally, taking a hurried sip of her wine.   
  
"Oh, stuff like what?"  
  
Terri's eyes widened as she stared down into her glass. "Oh, a gi for his karate class."   
  
**Where did that come from?** she didn't know, nor she didn't care.   
  
"Oh, he takes karate?"  
  
"Yes," Terri replied, thankful that at least she wasn't lying this time. "His father thought   
  
it would be a good idea to get him started early."  
  
"Does he like it?"  
  
Terri grinned. "Why so suddenly interested in a four year old's karate class?"  
  
Michael shrugged. "Just curious. You're usually so open with everything but obviously   
  
you get a little touchy when it comes to your son."  
  
Terri flushed a little at the comment. It was true. "He's very special to me," she replied.  
  
"I can see that." He took another sip of the lager. "What about his Dad?"  
  
Terri nearly choked. "What?"  
  
"Alex's father? Am I being too nosy…?" he trailed off, looking at her pointedly. "I mean,   
  
you don't have to tell me."  
  
"No, no. you have to forgive me. It's not very often someone asks me about my son… or   
  
his father," she added as an afterthought. She paused as the waiter returned with their   
  
plates. As she dug in with relish, she chewed over how much she should tell him. She   
  
wouldn't hold back anything about Alex, but Stiles, of course, was another problem.   
  
"Well… Alex is my joy… my life. He's the most important thing in my life," she paused   
  
to look at him, the love shining in her beautiful brown eyes. "He's the reason I get up   
  
every morning… he's the first thing on my mind when I wake up and the last thing I   
  
think about at night. I know it's kinda cheesy and very, very cliché, but it's true. The   
  
headaches, and skinned-knees and broken glass," she chuckled, "it doesn't really matter."  
  
"I would love to meet him," Michael said pointedly.  
  
Terri mulled over those six hopeful words. Should she allow the two to meet? Alex had   
  
never met any of the few men she'd consented to seeing over the past years. Probably   
  
because those dates were few and far between and nothing serious ever came of it. But   
  
this *thing* with Michael was serious wasn't it? After all, she'd been seeing him steadily   
  
over the past two weeks – she'd spent more time in his company in one day than the   
  
entire time she and Stiles had been carrying on with their sexual escapades. This could   
  
grow into something meaningful, and she wanted them to know each other.   
  
She smiled, looking at him over the rim of her glass. "I would like that, too."  
  
The two fell into companionable silence as they each finished their meal. As the waiter   
  
brought Michael's Irish coffee and Terri's mocha he asked, "So are you gonna leave me   
  
in breathless anticipation?"  
  
Terri shot him a confused look as she took a sip of her coffee. "Huh?"  
  
"About the other man in your life."  
  
**Other man? What on earth is he talking about?** she thought confusedly.   
  
Her confusion showed on her face because Michael chuckled. "Alex's father," he   
  
clarified. "I mean… things must be either pretty good or pretty bad between the two of   
  
you."  
  
"Why would you say that?" she asked curiously.  
  
Michael shrugged. "I mean, I don't hear you gushing about his virtues or screaming about   
  
what a complete jerk he is. In fact… I don't hear you say anything about him at all."  
  
Terri blanched inwardly. How could Michael know that she did all of her screaming   
  
about A.B. Stiles' shortcomings in the privacy of her home, where she could spew every   
  
four letter word she knew in description of a certain blue-eyed CIA agent? But he was   
  
right… she didn't talk about Stiles… at all. He was a very touchy subject. How could she   
  
explain that he was a CIA Agent and they'd had no real relationship, just mind-blowing   
  
and often – she could kick herself – unprotected sex that resulted in a baby nine months   
  
later after she'd been kidnapped by Chinese terrorists? That's right, she couldn't.  
  
"Well…" she began slowly. "There's not much to tell. He works for the Government as   
  
well… we had a very brief but torrid affair… we broke up. We have a kid… as you can   
  
see," she chuckled uneasily, "there's really not much to tell."  
  
"Are you still friends?"  
  
*Friends?* Terri almost burst out laughing at that. She and Stiles had been partners;   
  
comrades in arms; lovers, but they had never, *never* been friends. They were tolerant of   
  
each other – for the most part – they had to be for the sake of their mutual love for Alex.   
  
For the sake of appearance she nodded, swallowing the lie lodged in her throat.   
  
"I hope you don't think I'm pushing you, Terri. I would never do that intentionally. It's   
  
just that… I feel something very special could come of this. And if it does… I want to be   
  
as much a part of your life as you would be a part of mine."  
  
Terri smiled softly, but didn't say anything as the two finished their coffees. After he   
  
settled their bill, Michael walked Terri back to her SUV hand-in-hand. They paused at the   
  
driver's door and Michael tucked a fluttering strand of dark hair over her ear.   
  
Terri smiled at him. "Thanks for lunch."  
  
He returned her grin. "My pleasure," he replied, a hand dropping to her small waist.   
  
Bending his head, he met her lips halfway. Their kisses had grown more comfortable –   
  
less tentative, certainly not bland. Terri sighed as his tongue stroked the roof of her   
  
mouth, sending shivers of pleasure shooting down her spine.  
  
When he pulled away, he grinned at the dazed satisfaction in her eyes and he pecked her   
  
lips once more for good measure. "What are your plans for this weekend?" he asked, both   
  
hands loosely wrapped around her waist as they leaned lightly against the car.   
  
"Nothing concrete, I don't think. Why?" she asked grinning, "you got something special   
  
planned?"  
  
"As a matter of fact, I do. Just pack your overnight bag tomorrow."  
  
"Oh really? Where're we going?"  
  
"*That* my dear, is a surprise," he replied, kissing her again. "But it's probably not what   
  
you're thinking because I want you to bring Alex too, if you don't mind."  
  
Terri burst out laughing as he stepped away from her, allowing her to unlock the door. He   
  
had definitely made it known that he had wanted to meet Alex, she just wasn't expecting   
  
him to put in the request so soon. But, despite her misgivings, she didn't feel alarm or   
  
defensive about Alex as she'd thought she would. And so she nodded in acquiesce.   
  
"I'll call you tomorrow," he said, as she started the motor. Terri waved in response as she   
  
backed up the SUV and drove away.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Back at CIA Headquarters Terri could barely keep the smile off her face or the skip out   
  
of her step. By God, she was even humming! The only misgiving she had was her   
  
impending confrontation with Stiles. She had consented to bringing Alex with them this   
  
weekend but only on the ride back to the office had she realized that it was Stiles' turn to   
  
look after the four-year old this weekend.   
  
She was dreading the confrontation all afternoon, balancing her happy feelings with her   
  
feelings of dread. But she had not caught sight of Stiles all day. Neither Jackson, Joshua   
  
nor Lex had seen him. Quinn, Reese and Gage were still in Washington in talks with the   
  
President and his advisors. Finally, around four in the afternoon, she caught his familiar   
  
swagger out of the corner of her eye as he strode into his seldom-used office at the far   
  
end of the hallway.  
  
Taking a deep breath, she gathered her wits and left her station and walked toward his   
  
office. She knocked twice on the polished wood of the door and she heard a brusque,   
  
"Come in," from the other side.   
  
Stiles had been in a bad mood all afternoon. Quinn had called in to say that talks with the   
  
President were not going well and, unless they could uncover and snuff out the threat,   
  
Martin Archer would be dispatched to Ireland by the end of next week. Stiles was   
  
fuming. By God, next election he was voting for the Democrats!   
  
His mood brightened only fractionally as Terri appeared and shut the door behind her.   
  
"What's got your knickers in a bunch?" she asked.  
  
He gruffly relayed what Quinn told him and she frowned. Her news would not make his   
  
disposition any better.   
  
"What do you want, Terri?" he asked wearily, leaning back in his chair.   
  
She knew that she could fib a little or flat out lie about what she wanted, but the sly,   
  
vindictive woman in her wanted to stick it to him a little. "I'm going away this weekend   
  
with Michael," she began, her eyes gleaming as Stiles sat up straighter, "and he wants to   
  
bring Alex with us."  
  
Stiles thought he heard wrong. He had obviously heard the first part and he did not miss   
  
the undisguised gleam in her eyes, but she couldn't be serious. "Excuse me?" he asked,   
  
blinking rapidly.  
  
"I'm going away for the weekend…"  
  
"I heard that part," he cut in forcefully. "I just thought you said he wants you to bring my   
  
son with you."  
  
Terri's eyes narrowed. "Yes, he wants to bring *our* son."  
  
"No," he replied simply, getting up from the chair, and leaving her in the room.  
  
Terri's eyes widened in shock that he left so abruptly. She jumped up from her chair and   
  
hurried down the hall after him. "What do you mean 'no'?" she asked angrily, hurrying to   
  
keep up with him.  
  
"No means no, Terri," he shot back equally as forcefully.  
  
Terri noticed the curious stares they were getting from the rest of the department and she   
  
yanked Stiles into a dark OTS material supply closet away from the curious looks. She   
  
snapped on the light overhead, bathing them both in dim golden light. "Why not?"  
  
"Why not?" Stiles echoed incredulously.   
  
"Yes, why not?"  
  
"I don't believe you! You, who are so territorial about your visits comes to me and asks   
  
me to give up the one time when I'm guaranteed spending some quality time with my son   
  
so he can go off on some bonding ritual with your latest boyfriend?!"  
  
Terri's mouth fell open. "It's not like that, Stiles and you know it!"  
  
"Do I, Terri? Alex is my son, too. I can't keep rearranging my life and my schedule to   
  
suit your dating pleasure!"  
  
"You're not being fair!"  
  
"No, *you're* not being fair, Terri! The answer is 'no'!"  
  
Terri stepped back, her eyes narrowed. "You know what? I think you're just jealous!" she   
  
hissed.  
  
Truth was that he was seeing red with jealousy and anger. Coupled with his anger over   
  
the Martin Archer incident, he was exceedingly prickly. And he took it out on Terri.   
  
"Jealous?" he spit. "He's not the first man you've probably slept with on the first date   
  
and he sure as hell won't be the last! But *my* son is not going to be spending the   
  
weekend with you and him!"  
  
Terri's palm connected with the smooth plane of his cheek so fast and so hard that both   
  
of them flinched at the resounding crack in the now stifling silence.  
  
"You're a real bastard A.B. Stiles!" Terri hissed. She turned her back to him and yanked   
  
open the door to the supply closet.  
  
Stiles gingerly brought a hand to his stinging cheek, swallowing the bitter taste of disgust   
  
and regret in his mouth. **Damn, that's gonna leave one helluva mark!**  
  
TBC…  
  
A/N: I know, just when you thought things were getting a little better between those two,   
  
it falls apart. R&R people, tell me what you think. The next chapter might take a while   
  
because I'm leaving the country this weekend. I will most likely have access to a   
  
computer where I'm going, just not the time to write regular chapters. I will try my best,   
  
however. Ciao for now.  
  
Cara 


	12. Chapter 12

Show: The Agency  
  
Title: The American Family: Chapter 12  
  
Disclaimer: See Chapter 1  
  
A/N: Sorry about the delay but, like I warned you, I'm on vacation right now, so I don't have much   
  
time for writing. I did, however, make time to catch that new MI-5 show on A&E and by God, I   
  
wish I hadn't. It was horrible… I stopped watching after the first fifteen minutes. And they   
  
cancelled The Agency… right….  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Friday evening, 6:00 p.m.  
  
Terri zipped her duffle bag close and sighed. The last couple of days had been especially hard on   
  
her. First, she'd had that huge blowout with Stiles in the supply closet, then they had received no   
  
hits on their virtual APB on Jonathan O'Brien and had been supremely chewed out by Director   
  
Gage who had just returned from a less than successful meeting with the President, then, when   
  
she had come home expecting to tell her wonderfully polite and easy-going four-year-old about   
  
their upcoming 'adventure' this weekend, A.B.2 had proceeded to throw the mother of all   
  
tantrums.  
  
Terri pinched away at the tension pounding between her brows as she remembered what   
  
happened the night before.  
  
***Flashback***  
  
"Sweetie?" she asked, as they were having dinner. Alex looked up. "How would you like to go on   
  
an adventure with Mommy this weekend?"  
  
His big blue eyes widened. "With you and Daddy?" he asked innocently, knowing that this   
  
weekend he was due for Stiles.  
  
Terri shook her head and set her fork down. "No, honey, with a friend of Mommy's." She paused,   
  
not sure how she could explain it. "You know that nice man that Mommy told you about?   
  
Michael?"  
  
Alex nodded.  
  
"Well…" she drawled. "He's invited Mommy and you to come spend the weekend with him.   
  
Doesn't that sound like fun?"  
  
"What about Daddy? Can Daddy come, too, Mommy?"  
  
Terri swallowed. "No, honey. Daddy's busy this weekend," she said, wincing slightly at the lie.  
  
"Doin' what, Mommy? I'm s'posed to go with him this weeken'."  
  
"I know that, honey, but wouldn't you like to go on an adventure with a new friend instead of just   
  
staying in at Daddy's boring apartment trying to cut off the whiskers from Mrs. Watkins's cat?" she   
  
teased, trying to make it seem like a request, when already her mind was made up.  
  
A.B.2 paused, seemingly weighing the question. "No," he finally answered, before slurping up   
  
more noodles.  
  
Terri was shocked. She couldn't believe what she heard. "What did you say, honey?"  
  
"No, Mommy. I wanna spend this weeken' with Daddy. We always have fun t'gether, even if we   
  
jus' stay in his apartment."  
  
What had started out as a seemingly innocent way to convince her son that spending this   
  
weekend with her and Michael would be some great adventure had escalated to Alex screaming   
  
and crying before finally knocking his bowl to the floor, sending noodles and sauce all over the   
  
floor.  
  
They had paused their screaming then. The only sounds were Alex's sniffles and Terri's heavy   
  
breathing. "Go to your room, Alex," she barely managed through clenched teeth.  
  
Alex jumped up and scurried to the hallway, but not before he paused to scream, "I hate Michael   
  
an' I hate you!"   
  
Terri was speechless. Alex's footsteps hadn't even died away before she slumped in her chair   
  
and cried.  
  
***Present***  
  
Now, as she reflected on today, she could feel a lump of hurt stick in her throat. Astonishingly,   
  
Alex had maintained a code of silence towards her all day, refusing to even kiss her cheek when   
  
she dropped him off at day-care this morning. In that moment when his steely blue eyes had met   
  
hers, he had reminded her so much of Stiles that it stung far more than his refusal to say   
  
goodbye. She had come into the office to find her message-light blinking. It was Stiles calling to   
  
say: "Do whatever the hell you want, Terri. You always do. Why should you give a damn about   
  
what I want?" That had caused some raised eyebrows from Joshua and Lex, but they both knew   
  
better than to pry.  
  
The only thing keeping Terri from crawling into bed and bawling her eyes out was the knowledge   
  
that she would spend a wonderful weekend with an amazing person. And she was determined   
  
not to let A.B.2 or A.B. Senior or anyone for that matter but a damper on her weekend.   
  
Just then, she saw the play of headlights swing across her curtains and the beep of a horn in her   
  
driveway signaled that she had a visitor. She crossed to the window and peeped out. A smile   
  
found its way to her face. It was Michael.  
  
As she made her way to the stairs with her bag, she paused and called, "Alex, get your stuff,   
  
sweetie, Michael's here!" Only silence greeted her. She heaved a sigh. This was shaping up to be   
  
a very tough weekend.   
  
As the doorbell rang, Terri paused to check her appearance in the mirror. She had pulled her   
  
wavy hair back into a ponytail and slapped on a baseball cap. Unsure as to where they were   
  
heading, she had gambled on a pair of jeans with her hiking boots and a comfortable yet classic-  
  
looking navy-blue cable sweater. Sporty but cute… she hoped Michael thought so.   
  
She swung open the door just as Michael was reaching for the doorbell again and her breath left   
  
her in a rush. "Wow," she whistled appreciatively. He was glad in a hunter-green sweater,   
  
stonewashed jeans that clung to his leans hips and were just tight enough to emphasis his cute   
  
butt, a battered bomber jacket and boots. All he needed was a cowboy hat or a motorcycle   
  
helmet.  
  
Michael flashed his thousand-watt smile. "You don't look so shabby yourself, Ms. Lowell," he   
  
cheekily replied.  
  
Terri reluctantly laughed as she stepped back to let him in.   
  
Michael wrapped Terri in his arms and kissed her softly. "What's wrong?" he asked softly, as she   
  
sighed when she pulled away.  
  
"Nothing," she replied as she hugged him closer to her, enjoying the soft knit of his sweater   
  
against the apple of his cheek and the scent of his cologne.   
  
"Don't tell me that, Terri," he replied, kissing her hair. "Spill," he commanded gently.  
  
"Alex isn't exactly thrilled that he's coming with us this weekend," she admitted reluctantly.   
  
"Why not?" he asked, a furrow of curiosity finding its way between his brows.  
  
"Well, when you asked us, I was thrilled," she started to explain. "But I completely forgot that Alex   
  
was supposed to spend this weekend with his Dad. Needless to say that neither took the news   
  
very well…. " She trailed off.  
  
"You should've told me, Terri," he scolded gently. "I wouldn't want to get in the way of Alex and   
  
his father, you know."  
  
"I know, I know. But it's important to me that you get to know my son, and what better way than   
  
this weekend away from home, huh?"  
  
"What about, Alex?" he asked. "How does he feel? Seems to me that he *really* didn't take the   
  
news very well," he said, nodding towards the stairs.  
  
Terri turned to see Alex standing on the stairs, holding onto his Batman knapsack, his blue eyes   
  
huge and defiant as he stared at Michael. Terri sighed heavily as she headed toward the stairs.   
  
She caught his steely glare with one of her own and she grabbed his hand and had to practically   
  
drag a very reluctant A.B.2 down the stairs to meet Michael.   
  
"Michael O'Leary, this is my son, Alexander Bryan. Alex, this is Michael," she introduced.  
  
"Hi there, big guy," spoke up Michael, sticking out his hand for a customary handshake.  
  
A.B.2 stared at the outstretched hand. His blue eyes flicked up to Michael's, then back to his   
  
mother. The silence stretched out for long seconds and still Alex said nothing. Terri gave him a   
  
slight push forward between his shoulder blades. "Alexander…" she warned. Only then, with a   
  
mutinous glare at both of them, did Alex step forward and reluctantly shake Michael's hand. "Hi."  
  
Terri sighed again. Shaking her head, she apologized for her son's behaviour. "I'm sorry,   
  
Michael."  
  
Michael waved it away. "It's ok, Terri."  
  
"Honey, can you go wait for us out on the porch?"   
  
Alex seemingly couldn't wait to leave the room.  
  
"I'm really sorry," she apologized, scrubbing at her eyes with her shirtsleeve. "I never expected   
  
him to be so rude."  
  
"It's fine. Besides," he added, drawing her into his arms, "I've got all weekend to make up for it.   
  
By the end of the weekend, he'll be slapping me high-fives," he joked."  
  
"I hope so," Terri laughed.   
  
"I know so. This is gonna be one helluva weekend."  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
The door closed and the audible click of the lock flooded through Paddy's headset. He keyed in a   
  
few commands and picked up the phone and dialed a number. When the person on the other line   
  
picked up he spoke: "She's gone. Get movin' an', keep an eye on the car."  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
A.B. Stiles was on a mission. He wasn't undercover in some shady terrorist faction or committing   
  
international espionage. No, in the crudest terms possible, he was out to get drunk and laid…   
  
preferably in that order.  
  
He certainly was noticeable the moment he set foot in the bar. Tall and buff, clad in dark denim   
  
jeans, a periwinkle blue long-sleeved shirt and his favourite leather jacket, the moment his glacier   
  
blue eyes swept the room, slight grins of appreciation and approval graced the faces of practically   
  
every unattached female in attendance… and quite a few attached females as well.  
  
He hadn't even taken a sip of the beer he had ordered before, out of the corner of his eye, he saw   
  
a long-legged blonde slide onto the barstool beside him.  
  
"A Cosmopolitan," he heard her order from the barkeep.  
  
Stiles bided his time, slowly sipping his beer as he counted the seconds it took for the blonde to   
  
take her drink from the star-struck barkeep and take a sensual sip of it before swinging in the   
  
stool to face him.  
  
"Hi. I'm Dina."  
  
Stiles grinned inwardly. It had all transpired in less than 30 seconds. He turned his head slowly to   
  
look at her. "Hi," he replied.  
  
Dina flashed a grin that could not have been natural for all its pearly whiteness. "And you are…?"   
  
she trailed off pointedly.  
  
"A.B."  
  
"What's the A.B. stand for?" she asked the universal question.  
  
Stiles openly grinned, not missing the appreciative gleam in Dina's eyes. "I *could* tell you, but   
  
then I'd have to kill you."  
  
Dina laughed outright, tipping her head back, giving Stiles more than a peek at her ample   
  
cleavage.   
  
"Well we wouldn't want that now, would we, A.B.?" she asked, arching a penciled eyebrow at him   
  
as she took another sip from her drink.  
  
Dina wasn't the sort of woman he was usually attracted to: she was too thin, with an ample   
  
bosom that seemed to defy the laws of gravity, her skin was too tan and she wore too much   
  
makeup and too little clothes. But she was *exactly* what he was looking for in a woman   
  
tonight… because physically, she was the exact opposite of Terri Lowell, the person he wanted   
  
off his mind the most.   
  
"No we wouldn't," he finally answered. Stiles looked her straight in the eye. "Listen, Dina we can   
  
both beat around the bush and pretend to actually have a worthwhile conversation when we both   
  
know you want me to take you home. So let's just cut the crap and get outta here."  
  
Dina's eyes widened in astonishment; she certainly hadn't expected Stiles to make it so easy for   
  
her. Stiles waited pointedly. A slow smile spread across her face. "Sure, why not? Lemme get my   
  
coat."  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
3 hrs later   
  
It had been more than a while since Stiles had done this. Picked up some nameless, faceless,   
  
brainless woman from a bar and taken them home. It had been more than a while because no   
  
woman had ever compared to Terri. Once he had gotten a taste, nothing was as sweet as she   
  
was. But tonight was different. It was different because obviously, Terri didn't feel the same way   
  
about him. Hell, she was going away for the weekend with her *boyfriend*!  
  
And so he had drowned himself in Dina… ignoring how her mouth tasted like alcohol and Buffalo   
  
wings, or that her perfume reminded him of overripe fruit. All that mattered was that she was   
  
willing and she was *there* and she most definitely was *not* Terri Lowell.  
  
Stiles rolled his head on the pillow and stared at the sleeping face of Dina in the moonlight. Her   
  
mouth was slightly open and occasionally, the most unladylike of snores passed through her   
  
mouth. But it didn't matter. For all the unladylike faults, the body beneath the sheets was toned,   
  
trim, young and didn't bare the scars of motherhood and for the moment… that was all he   
  
needed.   
  
Stiles lifted a heavy hand and, with surprising gentleness, stroked Dina's curly platinum blonde   
  
hair. Her eyes instantly snapped open, dark brown with sleepy shock. She grinned as she   
  
recognized who it was and she reached up to him. "Again?" she asked as Stiles' weight settled   
  
over her. He nodded imperceptively as he heard Dina ripping open the trusty foil package in the   
  
dark.  
  
A long time after as Dina clutched his sweaty frame to hers, she whispered softly in his ear. "It   
  
must be quite a gal you're trying to forget."  
  
Stiles' head snapped up and the knowing look in Dina's eyes reflected that she knew she had hit   
  
the nail right on the head. He said nothing, simply pulled away from her and sat on the edge of   
  
the bed.   
  
"Is it working?" she asked. His silence was her answer. Dina shrugged her shoulders. "Well, it   
  
was worth a try, wasn't it?"  
  
Stiles still didn't say anything, just hunted for his clothes in the dark and drove home to his   
  
apartment and sat in the dark, cold and alone.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Previously, somewhere in rural Virginia.  
  
It was pitch black for most of the ride into the country. Although there was a full moon, most of it's   
  
light was blocked by the trees on either side of the narrow two lane road that they'd been   
  
traveling along for the last two hours. In that time, they'd only seen two cars pass them going in   
  
the other direction. Half an hour ago, Michael had turned off the air-conditioning and rolled down   
  
the windows and the balmy night air circulated in the car. Its warmth had lulled both Terri and   
  
Alex to sleep, but the pitch and roll of the car as it turned off the road onto an even narrower dirt   
  
road snapped Terri awake.  
  
Terri rubbed her eyes in an effort to regain orientation. "Where are we?" she asked sleepily.  
  
Michael's grin flashed white in the darkness. "We're about ten miles from the cabin. This road   
  
leads to a small lake and from there a private road leads to the cabin."  
  
"Oh, ok," replied Terri, shifting in her seat to check on Alex. In the dark of the car, she could   
  
barely see him, but she could hear his deep even breathing.   
  
"Go back to sleep, Terri. We're still a long way off."  
  
"Ok," she conceded, accepting his soft kiss on her lips.   
  
"I'll wake you when we get there."  
  
TBC…  
  
A/N: Sorry for the delay as is the norm. The next chapter will be a lot sooner in coming. Please   
  
R&R, love to hear your comments. 


	13. Chapter 13

Show: The Agency  
  
Title: The American Family: Chapter 13  
  
Disclaimer: See Chapter 1  
  
A/N: Hey, it's me again, back after a long break. Thank you for last chapter's comments – it's   
  
good to see that you are still paying close attention to the story. Keep the comments coming,   
  
enjoy!  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
(Picks up directly after the last chapter)  
  
True to his word, they arrived at a clearing half an hour later, at the edge of which stood a large   
  
but quaint log cabin. It was surrounded by a riotous little garden, split in half by a stone walkway.   
  
It looked like a giant gingerbread house.  
  
"Welcome to my humble abode," announced Michael, cutting the engine at the edge of the   
  
walkway.  
  
"It's beautiful," Terri commented, getting out and staring at the cabin in appreciation.  
  
"All the comforts of home," he replied, coming to stand beside Terri and wrapping his arm around   
  
her waist.  
  
"I can imagine."  
  
"Come on," he urged, stepping away from her. "Let's get Alex and the rest of our stuff and get   
  
settled inside."  
  
"Of course. I can't wait to see inside."  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
From the shadows of the trees that surrounded the cabin, three men watched. The leader of the   
  
men, a brawny redhead, quietly whispered into a walkie-talkie he pulled from his waistband,   
  
"Connagh Lake, this is Emerald Isle, they've arrived at his cabin. Repeat they've arrived at his   
  
cabin."  
  
An electric squawk followed before a voice, thick with a Northern Ireland accent replied, "Copy   
  
tha', Emeral' Isle. Stay put till you receive the signal."  
  
"Roger that, Connagh Lake. Emerald Isle signing off."  
  
In the dark, there were five other similar teams of men scattered around the perimeter of the   
  
cabin. Each had heard the announcement as well as the orders to stay still. Fifteen pairs of eyes   
  
remained pealed on the windows, not losing focus of their target when a lamp was snapped on   
  
inside, bathing the cabin with golden light.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Half an hour later Terri had set Alex, who had not even stirred when Michael lifted him from the   
  
backseat of the car into the house, into bed and after taking off her boots, padded barefoot down   
  
the small flight of stairs to see Michael in the final vestiges of lighting a cheery fire.   
  
"Thank you," she replied, accepting the glass of red wine, he handed to her after she'd made   
  
herself comfortable on the thick blankets he had laid out in front of the fire.  
  
"You're very welcome," he answered, sliding in behind her. Terri settled herself comfortably   
  
between his thighs and leaned her head back against the broad expanse of his chest.   
  
"This is very good wine," she commented, swirling her glass in the firelight.  
  
" '88 Pinot Noir."  
  
"Excellent year," she replied.  
  
"Yes," he replied, misty sentimentality clouding his emerald green eyes, "it was."  
  
As the minutes stretched into hours, and the wine level in the bottle steadily dropped, Terri found   
  
herself strangely more aware of her surroundings, as though she had detached her from her body   
  
and was watching what was happening floating above. She was aware of the scent of apple wood   
  
in the fire, the cheery snap, crackle, pop of the flames, the soft cashmere of her sweater rubbing   
  
against her skin, the warm hard length of Michael behind her. She became aware suddenly that   
  
Michael had taken her glass from her hand and placed it next to him on the small coffee table   
  
behind him, and was now running his long tapered fingers along the soft smooth column of her   
  
neck. Terri sighed in appreciation as his fingers brushed the sensitive hollow between the back of   
  
her right ear and her neck.   
  
She arched her back into him as he trailed a steamy path of kisses down her jaw to her mouth,   
  
cupping the back of her neck as her tongue snaked out to meet his. Terri moaned, as she tasted   
  
the heady flavour of the wine, smelt his cologne. Her senses were on fire. All she could feel was   
  
the taste of his lips, the smoothness of his fingertips as they trailed under her sweater to caress   
  
the smooth skin beneath. He gently cupped her lace-covered breast in his large palm and Terri   
  
bucked against him. It felt so right… yet so wrong. Only Stiles had ever made her feel like this.   
  
Like she was spiraling out of control. She mentally kicked such thoughts of her son's father out of   
  
her head and tried to lose herself in the sensation.   
  
Michael dragged his lips from her and whispered against her ear, the words rough and grated,   
  
"Are you sure, Terri?"  
  
Terri looked at him, her brown eyes huge in her face as she gazed at the beautiful man, features   
  
etched with obvious control. Slowly she nodded, her eyes following him as he quickly stood up   
  
and offered her his hand. She took his hand, allowing him to slowly draw her to her feet and she   
  
followed him as he led her upstairs.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
The next morning, Terri slowly came awake. Her head was fuzzy and her tongue and limbs felt   
  
heavy as she tried to lift her arms to stretch. It was cold, frightfully so. Alarm bells started clanging   
  
in her head. **What the hell is wrong with me?** Mentally she screamed. It hurt to even think!   
  
Cautiously she turned onto her side and drawing the sheets closer around her naked body as she   
  
sat up. As she slowly opened her eyes, she caught sight of a shadowy figure sitting directly in   
  
front her. She blinked rapidly to focus, ignoring the pain shooting into her head at her actions.   
  
Steadily her eyesight cleared, bringing Michael, clad all in black watching her, into focus.  
  
Her ready smile faltered on her lips. She didn't recognize this man. This wasn't the same Michael   
  
who had whispered quiet nothings in her ears as he drove them towards Nirvana the night before.   
  
He was replaced with a grim faced statue, with green eyes as hard and cold as the emerald chips   
  
they so closely resembled.  
  
Her eyes widened as, seemingly in slow motion, Michael whipped a wicked .22 calibre, equipped   
  
with the long lethal-looking barrel of a silencer and pointed it at her forehead. "Good morning, Ms.   
  
Lowell," the false pleasantness in his voice causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on   
  
end, "I trust you slept well."  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Back in his apartment, Stiles snapped suddenly awake from his drunken stupor. His stomach and   
  
heart were clenching. Something was terribly wrong….  
  
TBC…  
  
A/N: Well, this chapter has settled plenty of people's questions as to whether Michael was good   
  
or bad. Well, obviously, now he is. Don't forget to read and review folks and let me know what   
  
you think. BTW, updates will come about once every week or every two weeks. I know it seems   
  
like an awful long time to wait, but since I'm back in school, I'm very busy with my work. Hope to   
  
still hear from you all. Ciao for now! 


	14. Chapter 14

Show: The Agency  
  
Title: The American Family: Chapter 14  
  
Disclaimer: See Chapter 1  
  
A/N: Sorry about the delay, school's been a real pain in the behind. Thank you very much for   
  
much for last chapter's comments, it was very good to know that I settled plenty of debate as to   
  
Michael's status and yes, Michael does talk a good game doesn't he? How many of you would   
  
have been taken in by his personality? Answer honestly. Anyways, onto bigger and brighter   
  
things, did you guys hear that apparently Paige Turco (Terri Lowell) and Jason O'Mara (A.B.   
  
Stiles) got MARRIED!!! Isn't that fantastic…? I guess the sparks flew in reality. I guess many of   
  
you are wondering will that ever happen in this fic… yes it will, eventually, so until then, sit back   
  
and enjoy the rest of the ride!  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
He looked like crap.  
  
Stiles' glacial blue eyes were bloodshot and swollen from imbibing too much alcohol after he'd   
  
dragged himself home from Dinah's apartment the night before, there were violet crescent moons   
  
beneath his eyes and his cheeks were rough with the night's growth of beard. He splashed his   
  
face liberally with ice-cold water at the tap before glancing at his reflection in the mirror again.  
  
Not only did he look like crap, but he felt like it as well. His jeans were rumpled as they hung on   
  
his lean hips; he had long disposed of his T-shirt. As he blinked rapidly to shake off the last   
  
vestiges of his hangover and dry-swallowed two aspirin, he still couldn't manage to slake the   
  
alarm bell that was clanging in his head or the feeling that *something* was wrong from clawing in   
  
his belly.   
  
Never one to ignore his instincts – they had saved him one too many times in the field – Stiles left   
  
his bathroom and headed to his small office off the living room and dialed the secure OTS   
  
extension line.  
  
"OTS," came Lex's sleepy voice after only the first ring.  
  
"Hey, Lex, it's Stiles. Any progress?"  
  
"Nope," the tech clerk replied with a sigh. "Been here all night," he continued, stifling a yawn, "and   
  
there hasn't even been one hit."  
  
"Shit," Stiles cursed softly.  
  
"What's wrong?" asked Lex.  
  
"Nothing, it's nothing," Stiles replied, rubbing his exhaustion from his eyes. Maybe he was just   
  
overreacting – the effects of too much alcohol and too little food.  
  
"Sure?"  
  
"Yeah. Hey, Lex," Stiles called before he could hang up, "call me the second anything pops up."  
  
"Will do, Stiles."  
  
Stiles set the phone back on the receiver, a frown still marring his features. Something was   
  
wrong, he could feel it, but he couldn't quite put his finger on to why, but like Spiderman and his   
  
spider-sense, he could feel it. He stared at the phone again, debating as to whether he should   
  
call Terri or not. As soon as the thought crossed his mind he dismissed it. If Terri needed help,   
  
she could get it from *Michael*! Stiles cursed again and went to the fridge for his breakfast –   
  
beer… again.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Terri's heart dropped to her stomach as her eyes focused on the gun gripped so steadily in   
  
Michael's hand. She tried to scramble away from him in the bed as she gripped the sheets closer   
  
around her nakedness. "You bastard," she hissed, much to her dismay, her fear laced those   
  
defiant words.   
  
"My ma doesn't think so," he chuckled darkly. He pulled himself up to his full height and came   
  
slowly towards her, always trailing the gun on her forehead. Her eyes widened as she watched   
  
his progress and she tried to scramble away, but with the combination of being cocooned in the   
  
sheets and the effects of the drug running through her veins, there wasn't much Terri could do   
  
before he tossed a black silk robe into her face. "Dress," he barked disdainfully.   
  
Terri hurried to do as he asked, feeling more secure when at least the scrap of silk covered her   
  
nakedness. Before she could tie the sash properly, her cruelly grabbed her by her long hair and   
  
pulled her to her feet, spinning her around so that her back lay flush against the hardness of his   
  
front and he pressed the muzzle of the gun against her temple.  
  
Just then, the door to the bedroom and a man walked in holding Alex's hand. Waves of dread   
  
splashed over her as her son's frightened blue eyes met hers. Terri whimpered in fear as she met   
  
the cold blue eyes of none other than Jonathan O'Brien himself.   
  
"What to you want from me?" whispered Terri, disgusted as tears started to roll down her cheeks.   
  
Behind her, Michael used the barrel of the silencer to tuck a stray strand of chestnut hair behind   
  
her ear.   
  
"Whoever said we wanted something from you?" he whispered huskily, before her raised the butt   
  
of the gun and hit her across the back of her head.  
  
The last thing Terri heard before falling into the black pit of unconsciousness was Alex's scream,   
  
"Mommy!"  
  
Alex struggled against Jonathan's tight hold against the scruff of his T-shirt collar, he tried using   
  
his karate moves against the taller man, lashing out at his shins with his feet. John-boy cursed   
  
before backslapping the little boy into the door where his head connected with the door and he   
  
too slid into unconsciousness.   
  
"Must you settle everything with violence?" Michael asked, scooping Terri into his arms and   
  
walking past the other man.  
  
John-boy rolled his eyes as he scooped A.B.2 into his arms. "Talk about the pot callin' th' kettle   
  
black."  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Stiles took the dusty shoebox from the top of his closet. Dusting it off, he opened it as he sat on   
  
his bed. The box smelled like old memories, both good and bad. The box smelled like Ireland.   
  
Reverently, he took out the stack of photographs. The ones at the top of the pile were black and   
  
white and slightly fraying around the edges. They were pictures of his grandparents when they   
  
had been a good ten years younger than he was now, standing in front of the pub that had been   
  
in his family for years after they'd just gotten married. They were smiling for the camera and his   
  
grandfather was proudly holding his wife's stomach, protruding with their firstborn. His father. He   
  
looked at the photo of his fifteen-year-old father, standing with his parents in front of the second   
  
pub they'd bought when they moved to America. He cycled through the photos, moving from   
  
black and white, to grainy colour, to Polaroid, to photos from a few years ago. A photo of Terri at   
  
Thanksgiving at Joshua's when she had been sixth months pregnant. Lex had taken it in secret   
  
and, with a red face, given it to Stiles after he'd gotten it developed. She'd looked so beautiful,   
  
motherhood had suited her.   
  
He frowned as he cycled through the rest of the pictures: Terri at eight months, Terri, holding Alex   
  
for the first time, him holding his son, Terri rocking Alex to sleep in the neo-natal unit, numerous   
  
birthday parties… the frown couldn't help but fade as he looked at the pictures of his flesh and   
  
blood.   
  
He sifted through the other numerous knick-knacks from his past and found what he was looking   
  
for. He emptied the contents of the envelope onto the bed. Photos of himself when he was just an   
  
awkward teenage boy peered up at him, from the days when he had gone back to Ireland to live   
  
with his grandfather after his mother had died and his father had been stationed far away. In   
  
those boyhood days he had done some things he was not proud of today, things that had cost   
  
him a lot if they ever became friends. Things that had governed the man he had become now…   
  
his eyes bypassed the photograph of him as one of Martin Archer's bodyguards when Northern   
  
Ireland had first become democratic – an assignment only Quinn and Gage had known about –   
  
his eyes sifting until he found what he was looking for.  
  
With heart clenching, he gazed at the photo taken seventeen years ago, the year 1990 and he   
  
had been twenty-two, barely enlisted in the Marines four years. His eyes narrowed at the photo,   
  
he was dressed in fatigues and a blue beret – battle garb for the Sumac Cell and smiling for the   
  
camera with his 'friend' and 'comrade', Jonathan O'Brien.  
  
TBC…  
  
A/N: I know a lot of you are going to like 'What the hell?' Truthfully, I don't have the slightest clue   
  
where I took the story with this revelation… I had another plan for this story, but as I sat typing at   
  
my computer, this is where my muse took me and who am I to argue? I hope you like it, R&R to   
  
tell me what you thought. Bye for now.  
  
P.S: I've been meaning to answer the question posted, 'Why didn't Stiles and Terri get married   
  
after they found out she was pregnant?' The answer is, I didn't think it would be good for them to   
  
get married just for the sake of the child. All their relationship was based on before was sex, and I   
  
didn't think that, even if a child was involved, that that was the best thing to base something as   
  
important as marriage on. Hope that cleared it up. 


	15. Chapter 15

Show: The Agency  
  
Title: The American Family: Chapter 15  
  
Disclaimer: See Chapter 1  
  
A/N: I'm loving all the in-depth reviews I'm getting… it's great to know this story is so well liked.   
  
I'm always interested in sharing so, if you'd like to archive this story, just get into contact with me   
  
and let me know where it's going. I'm trusting my muse here and letting my fingers do the   
  
talking… meaning, I have no idea where this chapter will take us, so just stick around and find   
  
out.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Terri drifted in and out of consciousness, barely aware of her surroundings. She tried desperately   
  
to hold one to one tiny shred of reality and, with a supreme effort, she just barely managed to   
  
pluck it from the cloud of unconsciousness and pull her way back to the surface. The images   
  
blurred in front of her and she was just barely conscious of the cold of the room and the icy   
  
metallic texture of the folding chair she was tied to. Her head lolled to the side as she tried to   
  
keep down last night's dinner and her world continued to spin cartwheels.   
  
"And she lives," came a slightly amused Irish brogue from her right.   
  
As though her head weighed a ton, Terri turned her head to face her captor. Her eyes narrowed   
  
in hatred and contempt for him. His smirk grew… he seemed to find that small measure of   
  
defiance highly amusing. She continued to glare at him in silence as he crossed the room to   
  
stand before her.   
  
"Where's my son?" she hissed, hoping he couldn't read her fear in her voice.  
  
He could barely hear the fear but he could definitely see it, lurking in the shadows of her   
  
fathomless brown eyes. "He's safe," he replied.  
  
"Safe," Terri scoffed, straining against the ropes that held her down. "He is in the company of a   
  
sociopathic terrorist."  
  
John-boy laughed outright. "I've been called a lotta things in my life, but never a sociopath. You're   
  
funny… I like tha'."  
  
Terri kept her narrowed gaze trained steadily against him, even as her heart butterflied in her   
  
chest. She was so scared, more so for her son than for herself… disgusted that she had allowed   
  
herself to be taken in, only to learn that Michael was a monster.  
  
John-boy watched her. Even chained to the hard unyielding metal chair, her hair in disarray, dried   
  
blood hardening from the wound on her head, she was an exceptionally beautiful woman. He   
  
could see her soft feminine curves beneath the smooth silk of the robe that barely covered her   
  
nakedness. It wasn't hard to see why he was taken in. Why both of them had been taken in….  
  
"He always did like beautiful women…." He whispered more to himself than to Terri.  
  
Her eyes narrowed further in confusion. "What are you talking about?"  
  
John-boy studied her in contemplation. "Nobody," he all but finally spat in reply. "*He* is nobody!"   
  
Keeping his baleful gaze on her, he strode over to a cloth-covered table. Tossing aside the cloth,   
  
he picked up a bottle of translucent liquid and a syringe. As he loaded the syringe, Terri renewed   
  
her struggle with her bonds. She had no idea what was in the syringe and she certainly did not   
  
want to find out.   
  
Jonathan set the bottle down and pumped the syringe, ensuring that the tip was loaded. He   
  
turned his menacing blue gaze to Terri.  
  
"No," she begged, struggling harder. He grabbed her hair and yanked her head to the side,   
  
exposing her throbbing tendons and cruelly sinking the needle into her flesh, pushing the barrel of   
  
the syringe emptying its contents into her bloodstream.  
  
Instantly, Terri could feel herself weakening. She barely managed to whisper, "No," again, before   
  
she slipped back into unconsciousness.   
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Stiles studied the photograph, and all the secrets he had kept buried deep within him for so long   
  
came floating toward the surface. It had been taken a mere six months after he'd first met Robert   
  
Quinn, the only person who knew of his relationship with John-boy.   
  
When the first bombing had occurred in Belfast, the scenes had looked eerily familiar as he   
  
watched in the mess room of his barracks. His mind was taken back to a conversation seven   
  
years earlier, when he was barely fifteen and had been living with his grandfather for six months   
  
since his father was stationed in the South Pacific. He'd known Jonathan for five of those six   
  
months and the two of them had become instant friends. They'd been watching similar footage on   
  
the pub-TV elevated over their heads – The Brigade had set off a bomb at St. Patrick's Purgatory,   
  
killing 38 people present for midday mass. John-boy had been filled with anger, his contempt for   
  
the Protestants evident in his words.  
  
"If I wanted to get back at those dirty Prots, the firs' place I'd hit is St. Mark's…"  
  
Sure enough, seven years later, he was watching the smoking remains of St. Mark's Cathedral.   
  
Fifty-five dead, mostly old men, women and children, there for the vicar's blessing. He could only   
  
watch in horror as the new campaign wreaked havoc over Northern Ireland - setting churches on   
  
fire; kidnapping politicians – before, one day, he found himself sitting across a metal desk from a   
  
bald-headed CIA agent with the coldest eyes he'd ever seen.  
  
Flashback:   
  
Pensacola (1990)  
  
Gunnery-Sergeant A.B. Stiles did not flinch or look away from his interviewer. He had no idea   
  
why his presence was requested by none other than a senior CIA agent but, it was not his place   
  
to question the orders of his superiors, in this case Colonel Isaac Shaw, a man well-respected,   
  
but known for his dislike of the 'covert-sneaks' as he referred to the CIA. His instructions were   
  
simple: tell the Agent whatever he wanted to know.   
  
Robert Quinn had hung up his field boots for the CIA a long time ago and had settled himself into   
  
the role of bureaucrat, although no one would ever dare mistake him for a pencil pusher. He   
  
surveyed the stony-faced Marine standing at attention across from him with a critical eye – he   
  
was good-looking but not too handsome, with bright blue eyes and regulation cut dark hair, he   
  
was tall and well-built, but most of all, he didn't flinch or show any fear or even curiosity (although   
  
he was sure it was lurking there somewhere) in Quinn's presence. Yes, he liked what he saw a   
  
lot.  
  
Quinn flipped open the file detailing Stiles achievements and contribution to the Marines. He had   
  
joined the Corps at eighteen, fresh off the plane from Ireland. After only four years, he had been   
  
promoted from a mere squib Private at WestPoint to Gunnery-Sergeant. At the rate he was going,   
  
he'd probably be a General before fifty. But not if Quinn had anything to do with it. He saw great   
  
potential for Stiles to become the ultimate CIA operative.   
  
Finally looking across the table he asked, "What's your name son?" as if he didn't already know.  
  
Stiles wasn't at all fooled by the aloofness in Quinn's voice. Quinn wanted something from him.   
  
He just didn't know what. "Gunnery-Sergeant A.B. Stiles, reporting as requested, sir," Stiles   
  
replied staring at a spot on the wall behind Quinn's head.   
  
"At ease Sergeant. Take a seat," he indicated the metal folding chair in front Stiles.  
  
"Thank you, sir," Stiles conceded, sitting upright and returning his gaze to Quinn's.   
  
"Where were you born, Sergeant?" Quinn continued.   
  
For the briefest of moments, Stiles' aloof façade faltered. Quinn lifted a colourless brow. He   
  
rallied quickly. "New York City, sir."  
  
"When did you move to Ireland?"  
  
**Ireland?** He couldn't help it, Stiles was intrigued. "Seven years ago, sir. I was fifteen."  
  
"Tell me about your life there."  
  
"Sir?" asked Stiles, curiosity emblazoned across his features.   
  
"Tell me about your life there," Quinn repeated.   
  
Stiles paused, choosing his words carefully before beginning. "I was sent to Ireland to live with my   
  
grandfather and cousin when my father was stationed in the South Pacific –"  
  
"Your father…?"   
  
"Yes, sir. Colonel Joshua Stiles."  
  
Although he knew very little about the military, Quinn did know who Colonel Stiles was – the sub-  
  
commander of over seventy thousand troops stationed in the Middle East at that time, second   
  
only to General Macmillan.  
  
Gunnery-Sergeant Stiles came from good stock.  
  
Quinn nodded. "Go on, Sergeant. How long did you spend there?"  
  
"Three years, sir."  
  
Quinn looked at him, his pale eyes piercing Stiles. "Why didn't you follow your father to Hawaii,   
  
Sergeant?"  
  
For the first time, Stiles briefly dropped his gaze before returning it. "I must confess I was a bit of   
  
a troublemaker then, sir. It was hard for even the Colonel to control me. Would be even harder to   
  
keep face in front of ten thousand troops, sir."  
  
"So he sent you to Ireland?"  
  
"Yes, sir. My grandfather believed in hands-on discipline," Stiles replied ruefully.  
  
Quinn smirked. He could imagine. The man who raised Colonel Stiles had to be someone   
  
special. "Sergeant, while you were there, did you receive any news on the Northern Ireland   
  
conflict?"  
  
It was an obvious question. Who in Ireland at the time didn't know at least *something* of the   
  
country practically on the brink of civil war?  
  
"Of course, sir. Every day," he replied automatically.   
  
**Where the hell is this conversation leading to?**  
  
"What about it do you remember most?"  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"Was it the car-bomb at Fleming's or the bombing at St. Patrick's Purgatory?"  
  
"What do you mean, sir?" asked Stiles in utter confusion.   
  
"Just answer the questions Sergeant. What do you remember most?"  
  
"I remember them all, sir," Stiles replied, barely remembering to keep his temper. "It's hard not to   
  
when its all practically happening in your backyard."  
  
Quinn nodded in satisfaction, admiring the fact that Stiles only appeared moderately ruffled.   
  
"What about recently, Gunnery-Sergeant?" he asked, shrewdly awaiting his reaction.  
  
Stiles' lids shielded his gaze. "I won't forget those either, sir."  
  
Quinn reached for another folder on the desk and slid it towards Stiles who looked at it warily   
  
before opening it and surveying its contents. Photos of the dead, of crumbling buildings and   
  
smoke-filled skies stared back at him. His gaze swung up to see Quinn watching him shrewdly.  
  
"Permission to speak freely, sir?"  
  
Quinn arched an eyebrow. "Of course, Sergeant."  
  
"What the hell does the CIA want from me?"   
  
Quinn couldn't help but smirk grimly as he leaned forward and informed Stiles exactly what his   
  
country required of him….  
  
Present:  
  
Stiles dropped the photo back into the envelope.   
  
**Assess, approach, infiltrate, attack… destroy.**   
  
That was what his country had required him to do. With regards to Sumac Cell… and Jonathan   
  
O'Brien, criminal mastermind, known only to a select few within the Intelligence community.  
  
Seventeen years ago, the U.S Government was more concerned with Saddam Hussein and his   
  
invasion of Kuwait than the everyday violence of Northern Ireland. But the second military   
  
equipment was mentioned, it became their business. The IRA was suspected of dealing with   
  
Akbar Hasani, a Pakistani weapons dealer. Their deal included a newly formed, small but deadly   
  
terrorist cell called the Sumac Cell. It was suspected that the Sumac Cell was planning to attack   
  
American interests in Northern Ireland and it was Stiles' job to see that that didn't happen.  
  
As time wore on, it became obvious why they had chosen *him* a Gunnery-Sergeant to do this   
  
job. How they had even discovered his friendship with Jonathan O'Brien was beyond him.   
  
Perhaps walls really did have ears.   
  
They coached him on his story – how he would convince John-boy to include him in the Cell and   
  
eventually the plans… etc. He had done well, stole in under the cover of night, adapted well, only   
  
to discover the rumours were false. The IRA and Sumac Cell were not linked in any other way   
  
besides the fact that they were pro-Catholic. Thus ended the Government's interest in them and   
  
so he had left, back to the land of the brave… not utterly convinced he had convinced his old   
  
friend entirely.   
  
He had put his friend out of his mind, until 2000 when the bombings started again… waiting   
  
somewhat with bated breath for the master of disguise to pop back up…. No one else in OTS or   
  
the IRT knew of his connection besides Quinn, not even Gage or Reese. He had a feeling that   
  
wasn't going to be the case much longer.  
  
The phone rang. It's shrill call startling him from his dream. He watched the telephone. Some part   
  
of him had been waiting for this call….  
  
TBC…  
  
A/N: That's it for now folks. I hope you enjoyed. I promise to write more soon. Don't forget to   
  
R&R. Ciao! 


	16. Chapter 16

Show: The Agency  
  
Title: The American Family: Chapter 16  
  
Disclaimer: See Chapter 1  
  
A/N: Last chapter got you thinking and wondering and feeling sorry for Terri. Let's see if I can   
  
make you wonder some more….  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Hesitantly, Stiles crossed to the phone, watching it as if he expected it to blow up the second he   
  
lifted the receiver from the cradle. Before the answering machine kicked in, Stiles picked it up.   
  
"Yes?"  
  
"McGinty's, six p.m."  
  
Before Stiles could formulate the thought to ask who the caller was, a click sounded and the   
  
annoying electronic dial-tone flooded his ear.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Three hours after everything had gone black for the second time, Terri's eyes snapped open. She   
  
had been hoping she would find herself snuggled deep within her bed linens secure in the   
  
knowledge that it was all some bizarre nightmare but, the moment her eyesight sharpened and   
  
her head stopped spinning, she knew it hadn't been a dream.   
  
She blinked rapidly and found herself staring into the cold dead eyes of Michael. He didn't even   
  
flinch as he watched the hatred and disgust flood into the brown pools that, twenty four hours   
  
ago, had gazed at him with admiration. They stared at each other in silence before Terri opened   
  
her mouth: "Where is my son?" she asked, her tone fragile.  
  
Michael said nothing, just continued to give her that blank stare.  
  
"Where. Is. My. Son?" Terri bit off, her tone becoming frantic, borderline hysterical.   
  
"Safe," he replied, in the same detached tone his partner had given when asked the same   
  
question a few hours earlier.   
  
"Don't give me that!" Terri exclaimed, struggling against her bonds. Knowing that, with the   
  
adrenaline pumping, if the drugs weren't hampering her movements, she would have leapt out of   
  
that chair and kicked his ass four ways from Sunday. "Where is my son?!" she screamed at him.  
  
"Calm down," he commanded, his tone deceptively mild.  
  
Terri struggled even harder and Michael leapt from his chair and grabbed a loaded syringe from   
  
the table beside him. "Calm down! You don't want me to use this, do you?" he asked. Terri   
  
immediately settled, her eyes following the syringe's every move. "Calm down, Terri," his voice   
  
implored, the tone taking on the same quality as it had when he first met her – when he was   
  
wooing her. She continued to watch him, her eyes wide as she tried to process whether or not he   
  
was being sincere or whether he would become the monster again.  
  
"No harm will come to your son if you just do as you're told," he continued, settling back into his   
  
chair.   
  
Terri kept her eyes on him. "Who are you?" she asked.  
  
"You know who I am, Terri," he replied.  
  
Terri shook her head in denial. "I know who you pretend to be," she countered. "Is your name   
  
even really Michael O'Leary or was he some poor sod you took advantage of, too?" she asked   
  
snarkily.   
  
Michael smirked, ruefully. "Yes, my real name is Michael O'Leary."  
  
Terri continued to watch him. Somehow, she knew that his partner was Jonathan O'Brien, but she   
  
kept her thoughts to herself – from their treatment of her, she surmised they didn't know what she   
  
really did for a living and their ignorance was what was keeping her alive.   
  
"Why are you doing this?" she asked, injecting a distinct note of vulnerability into her voice.   
  
"You wouldn't understand," Michael replied, his voice genuinely contrite.  
  
That gave Terri pause, but her curiosity got the best of her. "Try me," she hissed. "I want to know   
  
why you did what you did," the last was interjected as a result of her wounded pride.   
  
Michael actually had the grace to flinch, the first genuine emotion he had revealed since his   
  
unveiling. "The world's not black and white, Terri. It would do you well to remember that," was all   
  
he finally said in cryptic reply before exiting the room and leaving her alone.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Six o'clock on the dot, Stiles stepped over the threshold of McGinty's pub, the Celtic music   
  
transporting him to another time. A waitress stepped up to him.   
  
"A.B. Stiles?" she asked.  
  
He nodded.  
  
"Table nine," she pointed out before walking away.   
  
Stiles headed for his destination and slid into the booth across from his companion.  
  
"Why am I here?" he asked.  
  
"Is tha' any way t'greet a *friend* tha' ye haven't seen in seven years, A.B.?" John-boy asked   
  
mockingly.  
  
The man sitting across from him looked nothing like the Jonathan O'Brien he'd met fourteen   
  
years ago. Gone was the tall, gangly ginger haired boy with the laughing blue eyes; he replaced   
  
instead by a brawny platinum blonde with a hook nose.  
  
Stiles narrowed his eyes at his former friend.  
  
"I have some things tha' ye might want back," John-boy clarified, reaching into his pocket and   
  
tossing an envelope onto the table.  
  
Stiles looked at the envelope then back to John-boy in disdain. He snatched it up and quickly   
  
scanned through the pictures, his face blanching as his brain processed the images. He stared at   
  
him in mild disbelief.  
  
John-boy watched this all with an air of detachment. He had been keeping tabs on his *friend* for   
  
a while now; he knew how to push his buttons. "Am I right, or am I right?" he asked.  
  
Stiles stared at him, trying to dampen the fear and concern for his son and Terri, but he knew   
  
John-boy well enough to know that he wasn't fooling him. "You bastard!" he hissed, barely   
  
suppressing the urge to leap across the table and strangle the blonde, not wanting to attract   
  
unwanted attention.  
  
"So, I've been tol'." John-boy took a calm sip of his Guinness, anticipating the next question.   
  
"What do you want from me?" asked Stiles, gritting his teeth.   
  
"Not much," he replied matter-of-factly. "I jus' want Martin Archer dead."  
  
Stiles blanched. "You can't be serious."  
  
"As a heart attack, I believe th' correct American response is."  
  
"You're crazy. What makes you think I would do something like that?"  
  
John-boy's eyes narrowed. "If ye ever want t'see yer son an' that pretty little brunette alive again,   
  
ye will," he hissed in reply.  
  
Blue eyes clashed with blue. It was hard to even fathom that these two men were ever friends.  
  
"Where are they?" he asked.  
  
John-boy shook his head. "Why d'ye ask a question ye *know* I won't answer, A.B.? All ye need   
  
to know is they're both alive an' well an' they'll stay that way unless ye do somethin' stupid like go   
  
tell your friends over at th' CIA," he continued.  
  
Stiles could swear he saw a flash of sympathy in his eyes, but he knew Jonathan was deathly   
  
serious; he wouldn't hesitate to kill Terri, Alex and maybe Stiles himself if it were a means to an   
  
end – he wanted to know why.  
  
John-boy knew he wanted to know the reason for the Cell's latest target after staying out of the   
  
limelight for so long. What he knew could set the world of covert Intelligence and politics on its   
  
head. What he knew was so important that, even after his betrayal, he could count on know one   
  
but Stiles to see it through.  
  
Without difficult, John-boy kept his gaze on Stiles. "I know ye think I'm a monster, A.B.—"  
  
"You are a monster," he spat in reply, clenching his fists.  
  
"Maybe I am," John-boy continued, as if his friend hadn't interrupted. "But they're a lot o' people   
  
who think I'm not."  
  
"And who would those be?"  
  
"The people who no longer have any loved ones because they got blown up by the Brigade," he   
  
countered just as heatedly.   
  
"Why are you telling me this, John-boy? Trying to justify your sins?"  
  
Jonathan's eyes narrowed. "Lyin's a sin, too, A.B. or have ye conveniently forgotten tha' as well?"  
  
Stiles bit back a retort. That statement was enough to let him know that his past transgression   
  
was well-known. Later, he would come to realize how lucky he was to even be alive.   
  
"Everythin's not black an' white, A.B. We live in a grey worl'. That's a lesson ev'ryone oughta   
  
learn from birth – everythin's not good *or* evil, nothin's ever so cut an' dried; *nothin's* ever   
  
*that* simple. Take our friend Martin Archer for example. The worl' sees him as a brilliant liaison   
  
officer – he's who helped 'unite' dear ol' Ireland, after all – an' me, well I'm jus' yer av'rage   
  
overzealous pro-Catholic Irish terroris'. But I know better." He paused and took another sip of his   
  
lager. "Tell me, A.B., whilst ye were his bodyguard, did ye ever once give 'im the indication than   
  
ye were Catholic?"  
  
A.B. kept quiet.  
  
"I bet ye didn't, 'cuz in private, we all know he had a filthy temper where we were concerned."  
  
"Is there a point, John-boy?"  
  
John-boy resisted the urge to chuckle. "There's always a point, A.B."  
  
"Well, I suggest you get to it."  
  
"Have ye ever heard of St. Michael's Army?" At Stiles' blank look he continued. "I s'posed ye   
  
haven't. They're th' private burr in every Catholic's tail. For two years we tracked 'em. They   
  
popped outta nowhere. I s'pose because they posed no direct threat to you Americans they   
  
weren't even a blip on yer intelligence radar. You shoulda paid closer attention."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"It's their job t' systematically undermine everythin' the Irish Government's doin' to aid th'   
  
Republic. They started quietly, takin' a shot here, takin' a shot there, slowly but surely ekin' away   
  
at the country's faith in our P.M. Now comes the ace in their hole – election day – and Archer's   
  
arrival in Belfast sets th' las' play in motion."  
  
"Stop speaking in riddles," commanded Stiles, his confusion and fear finding its way into his   
  
voice.  
  
"Martin Archer is part of this syndicate, A.B. and it's his job to make sure that Prime Minister   
  
Thompson or any other Catholic doesn't make it into office – by any means necessary, otherwise   
  
known in *my* world as imminent assassination. And it's *your* job," he pointed at Stiles, his blue   
  
eyes, "to make sure that that doesn't happen."  
  
TBC…  
  
A/N: The story takes yet another twist. Can't wait to hear from you, so R&R. I hoped you had a   
  
wonderful Christmas, or Hanukkah, or Kwanzaa or Winter Solstice or whatever it is that you   
  
celebrate. I hope you have a HAPPY NEW YEAR, as well!  
  
HAPPY 2004!  
  
Cara 


	17. Chapter 17

Show: The Agency  
  
Title: The American Family  
  
Disclaimer: See Chapter 1  
  
A/N: I found it a little difficult to write this chapter, for fear that my muse had deserted me, but I   
  
decided not to wait and just dive in and see what happens. Thank you for last chapter's   
  
comments; I really appreciated them. One correction: John-boy and Stiles met twenty-four years   
  
ago, not fourteen. On with the chapter… enjoy!  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Stiles sat back and absorbed everything his former friend had just told him.  
  
He was a man caught between a rock and a hard place. On one hand, if he didn't do as John-boy   
  
had 'asked', Terri and Alex would wind up dead. On the other hand, if he did do as John-boy had   
  
asked, he would be committing the assassination of a diplomat – punishable by death under any   
  
circumstances.  
  
John-boy watched the warring emotions flit past Stiles' face. Never before had he seen him so   
  
vulnerable. For a moment, he felt a flitter of emotion for the friendship they had lost, but Stiles   
  
was a mean to an end – if he didn't do as he asked, PM Thompson would be dead in less than a   
  
fortnight and Republic of Northern Ireland would fall. He steeled himself and kept his mind on the   
  
matter at hand.  
  
"I can't do this…."  
  
John-boy's blue eyes narrowed. "Don't look t'me fer sympathy, A.B." he hissed. "I have *no* more   
  
where you are concerned. God knows you should've been *dead* seven years ago! How d'ye   
  
think ye escaped Ireland without a bullet in yer head, huh? You *owe* me for yer life! It's time for   
  
that debt t'be paid, or yer son an' that woman will never see the light o' day again."  
  
"How do I know that once I do what you ask, you won't kill them anyway? How do I even know   
  
that what you've told me of Archer is true? How the hell can you do this to me and expect me to   
  
believe you?" Stiles was practically hysterical. He was like a wounded animal. He felt caged and   
  
wanted to lash out at John-boy, to rip him limb from limb. But that would accomplish nothing.   
  
Besides, John-boy most likely was not alone. He would probably get his ass kicked before he   
  
could pull back his fist to hit him again.  
  
"My word is my bond, A.B." His cold blue eyes met Stiles. "I swear on my mother's grave tha' no   
  
harm will be done t' them if ye do as I say. But, so help me God, if you don't… t' hell with   
  
friendship." He paused and stood up, towering over Stiles.  
  
Stiles was defeated. He knew there was nothing he could do if he wanted to keep his family alive.   
  
The slump in his proud shoulders was all the answer Jonathan needed.  
  
"Yer instructions will be delivered t'ye in seven days. When ye 'ave received them, you will   
  
execute them accordingly. I expect Martin Archer t'be dead before 'e sets foot on that plane t'   
  
Ireland."  
  
Stiles watched Jonathan's broad back heading away from him before the thought finally occurred   
  
to him. "How did you even get to them?" he called, hoping he heard over the din in the bar.  
  
John-boy paused and turned to his friend. "Why don't you ask them that when you get home?"  
  
He was gone before Stiles could even surge to his feet.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
When Terri next woke up, she could feel a comfortable weight fused to her side. It took her a few   
  
seconds to gather her wits and open her eyes. Her heart leapt with joy the moment she saw a   
  
mop of dark curls and baby-soft skin. The relief was so great that tears leapt to her eyes and she   
  
clasped him closer, miraculously not smothering him in her bosom.  
  
The rustling sheets caught his attention and jerked Stiles awake from his makeshift bed in the   
  
chair near the foot of his bed. He looked up to see Terri clasping their still prone son in her arms   
  
and he felt a surge of inexplicable emotion.   
  
When he'd arrived home an hour after John-boy left him at McGinty's, he had stormed through   
  
the house looking for them, trying to keep his hysterics to a minimum and finally found them, both   
  
unconscious in the middle of his bed. They'd both looked so beautiful lying there, safe and alive   
  
and Stiles found tears rolling down his face. He hadn't wanted to think of what could've possibly   
  
happened to them or what would happen if he didn't do as John-boy had ordered. He'd lost all   
  
strength in his legs and had sunk to a chair just in time and waited for them to wake up.   
  
"Terri?" he called.  
  
Terri's head snapped up in wonder and her eyes jerked towards the sound. Only then did she   
  
realize she wasn't back in that cold dank room in Michael's cabin. She was in an unrecognizable   
  
bedroom and *Stiles* was there. How he'd found them, she didn't know nor did she even care.   
  
"Stiles?" she sobbed.   
  
Of their own volition, his legs pushed him to his feet and he sank to his knees at the foot of the   
  
bed and before he could say or do anything else, Terri surged into his arms.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
One hour later, 2:00 a.m.  
  
At the creak on the bottom step, Stiles turned away to see Terri coming towards him. She was   
  
clad in an oversized grey US Marines T-shirt and a pair of his sweatpants that she had rolled the   
  
waistband three times in order for them to fit right. Her hair was damp and curling about her face   
  
and her eyes were huge and doe-like. She looked exhausted, will violet smudges under her eyes   
  
and her face was drawn and pale, but he'd never seen a more beautiful sight.   
  
She stopped about two feet from him and stared at him. He lifted a leaden hand and stroked the   
  
soft plane of her cheek in wonder. Terri's bottom lips trembled and she turned her cheek into his   
  
caress.   
  
"Did they hurt you?" he asked huskily.  
  
Reflexively, Terri's hand lifted to the back of her head and stroked the spot where Michael had hit   
  
her with the butt of his gun. "Not really."  
  
"Alex?" he asked.  
  
Fresh tears brimmed. "I don't know…."  
  
Stiles' hand tangled in the hair at the nape of her neck and he pulled her into his arms. As she   
  
rested her head on his shoulders, he reflected that he didn't think he'd actually ever seen Terri   
  
cry. Not even after she'd been rescued from North Korea. The sight broke his heart. He never   
  
wanted to see her cry like this again.   
  
"How did this happen?" he grated.   
  
Terri lifted her head from his shoulder and looked at him.  
  
Stiles wasn't prepared for the shame he saw in the chocolate pools.   
  
"*He* did it," was her only answer.  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Michael O'Leary."  
  
Stiles' eyes widened in surprise and his breath left him. O'Leary worked for the Government! Just   
  
how tangled would this web become?  
  
"He used me, Stiles." She grit her teeth and moved away from him, turning her back to him. "How   
  
could I have been so stupid, so gullible to fall for his lies?" One part of her knew why – she'd been   
  
looking for something that she hadn't gotten in long time from any man, least of all Stiles.   
  
Affection. And Michael had given her that and plenty more. She felt like such a fool. "He could   
  
have hurt Alex, Stiles." Worst of all she was a bad mother.  
  
The moment she said those words, he knew what she was thinking. "He took advantage of you,   
  
Terri. Don't blame yourself."  
  
"I'm a CIA Agent for crying out loud, Stiles! I defended him to you, Stiles and he worked me like a   
  
slab of clay on a potter's wheel. He molded me and got exactly what he wanted."  
  
Stiles blanched at the thought that crossed his mind. He didn't want to think about what that   
  
meant, but the second Terri buried her face in her hands, he knew. She had slept with him.   
  
If he ever saw the bastard, he would kill him!  
  
"He's in cahoots with Jonathan O'Brien."  
  
"How do you know that?" he asked softly.  
  
"The moment he set eyes on me, I knew."  
  
Stiles set his jaw. "Did he touch you?"  
  
Terri's eyes questioned him as she turned to him. "No. They didn't want anything from me,   
  
Stiles…" she trailed off pointedly.   
  
Stiles turned away from her. "No, they don't," he replied cryptically.   
  
Terri gripped his arm and whirled him around. "Don't talk in riddles, Stiles. They wanted *you*,   
  
didn't they? What did you do? What do they want from you? Why am I *here* now and not in   
  
some cockroach infested cabin in the woods?" she practically screamed.  
  
Stiles yanked his arm away. "I made a pact with the devil himself, Terri. I sold my life for my   
  
family!"  
  
TBC…  
  
A/N: Decided to end it there. I'll try especially hard to get next chapter out sooner. As an aside:   
  
Did anyone remember chapter eight when Stiles and Terri argued over Michael in the conference   
  
room and Terri defended Michael by saying it wasn't like he was some madcap terrorist with evil   
  
designs…. Isn't that ironic considering that's exactly what he turned out to be? Wonder if anyone   
  
picked up on that. Well, R&R, you know I love those things.  
  
Cara 


	18. Chapter 18

Show: The Agency  
  
Title: The American Family: Chapter 18  
  
Disclaimer: See Chapter 1  
  
A/N: Thanks a bunch for last chapter's reviews. To Kusuma – please don't ever   
stop reviewing the way you do, the same for Dawn; you two are such an   
inspiration to me, so keep doing what you do. The same goes for everyone who   
has stayed with the story the entire way such as.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
(continues directly after the end of last chapter.)  
  
Terri shrank away as though she had been slapped. "Stiles…" she whispered in   
confusion. "What are you talking about?"  
  
Stiles turned away from her and buried his face in his hands. He could feel the   
tears pricking at the back of his eyes. If he didn't get a grip right now, he would   
fall apart.  
  
Terri took a shuddering breath and crossed over to him and laid a trembling hand   
on his shoulder.  
  
Stiles' head snapped up and he grit his teeth trying to swallow the huge lump of   
pain and guilt lodged in his throat.  
  
"Stiles?" she whispered again, stepping so close behind him he could feel the   
heat radiating from her body. Her hand slid down the soft cotton of his sweater   
and she took his large hand in hers. It swallowed hers and enveloped her grip in   
warmth, though that's the last either of them truthfully felt. "Talk to me," she   
implored.  
  
Stiles' fingers reflexively tightened around hers before he let her hand go and   
stepped away.   
  
Terri turned around, but once again he had his back to her so she couldn't see   
his face. "What did you do?" she asked yet again.  
  
For the first time since his outburst, Stiles turned around and met her eyes.   
  
What she saw there shocked her: pain… anger… guilt.  
  
"I first met Jonathan O'Brien twenty-four years ago," he began shakily.  
  
Terri blanched, unsure if what she was hearing could possibly be true. "What?"   
she whispered incredulously.  
  
Stiles held up a hand. "Please Terri, let me finish."   
  
She nodded reluctantly and he ambled on with his story. "I was fifteen and my   
father had shipped me off to Ireland to live with my Grandfather and Danny right   
before the new school year. John-boy lived just down the street with his family –   
his brother Niall used to tend for my grandfather and John-boy always used to be   
at the pub. He was the first friend I made in Ireland. We understood each other,"   
he admitted, his voice cracking. "He didn't see me as this messed up American   
kid with a huge chip on his shoulder and I didn't see him as some gangly Irish   
boy doomed to spend the rest of his days in a coal mine or tending a bar."   
  
Stiles grit his teeth and struggled for control. Terri sank to the cushions of his   
couch, still processing all that he'd told her.  
  
"For three years, we were inseparable. We had no secrets from one other, did   
everything together – he was the brother I never had, and I was the brother he   
wished Niall would be. When I turned eighteen, everything changed. After I did   
my A-levels my father decided it was time for me to return to the States and   
enrolled me at WestPoint. He just showed up one day after not even sending a   
frickin' post card in two years and turned my life upside down. I didn't even get to   
say goodbye. When I got to America, I used to call my Grandfather every chance   
I got – I would *always* ask after John-boy and if he was there at the pub, we'd   
talk as long as my dollar would last. Finally, the conversations stopped. My   
grandfather told me Niall went to Belfast after a friend – he never came back.   
Somebody had slit his throat. John-boy disappeared the next day…."  
  
Stiles was finding it increasingly difficult to continue but he drew a deep breath   
and plunged on. "After that, I buried myself in my studies. I started to move up in   
the ranks – my life was my work. One morning, about four years later, I was in   
the mess hall and I was watching CNN coverage about the bomb that went off at   
St. Mark's Cathedral. I remember having this sick sense of déjà vu and it only got   
worse as weeks went by and more and more attacks on Protestants kept   
happening until one day, my CO tells me to report to the conference room and I   
find myself sitting across a table from Robert Quinn," he continued with a dark   
emotionless chuckle.  
  
Terri's mouth practically fell open at that revelation and, if the situation hadn't   
been so serious, it would have been funny.  
  
"I think that was the worst day of my life," he admitted softly, standing by the   
window and looking out at his quiet urban neighbourhood. "There are no ways to   
describe the feeling you get when you're told that someone you trusted,   
someone you *loved* was capable of doing something like those things.   
  
"But, somehow, I knew Quinn wasn't lying. Even when we were kids, I don't think   
I'd ever seen John-boy in an unguarded moment – there was always a dark side   
to him, from the other friends he kept at school, to the colours he wore to the   
things he said. But one thing was certain – he hated Protestants, and had   
absolutely no qualms in letting anyone know."  
  
Terri drew her knees up to her chest and kept her gaze riveted to his back. "What   
did Quinn want from you?"  
  
Stiles turned away from the window and smirked ruefully. "What do you think,   
Terri? To spy."  
  
"On John-boy?"  
  
He nodded. "Of course, he didn't make it seem so simple. He made it known that   
it was a 'matter of national security'," he clarified with more than just a hint of   
sarcasm. "The CIA thought that the Sumac Cell was in partnership with the IRA   
on a weapons deal big enough to scare the government into preemptive action. It   
was my job to infiltrate the Cell using my influence as John-boy's friend and find   
out if the intelligence was correct and if it was, sabotage it." Stiles scoffed in   
frustration. "How the hell they learned Jonathan was behind it or found out that I   
was even his friend is beyond me… all I know is that I had to betray the only   
person who understood me unconditionally for my country!"  
  
Terri resisted the sudden urge to reach out for Stiles and try to comfort him   
somehow, and she remained rooted where she sat. "How did you do it?"  
  
"Do what?" he asked, looking slightly bewildered.   
  
"Show up after four years and get him to trust you…."  
  
Stiles shrugged. "I'm not even sure. He just did. And I played him like a fiddle. Or   
maybe I was the one who got played. I learnt so much about them, about a whole   
other side of John-boy that I didn't know. I think I started to believe so much in   
what John-boy claimed he was fighting for that I was losing sight of what I was   
there to do in the first place."  
  
Terri wasn't quite sure to take that statement, but she held her tongue.  
  
"When Quinn realized what was happening, he ordered me to get out fast. After   
confirming that Sumac Cell wasn't involved in any weapons deal with the IRA, I   
was extracted."  
  
Somehow, Stiles had made his way back to the window. Perhaps he didn't want   
Terri to see his face for the next part of the story. "My extraction wasn't pretty…."  
Terri held her breath.  
  
Stiles watched her reaction through her reflection in the mirror. "Four people   
died… including John-boy's little sister, Fiona. She was a great kid…" Stiles   
mused. "I don't know why she was mixed up in it all, but grief makes a person do   
stupid things…."  
  
Terri wasn't sure Stiles realized his voice had cracked at that last admission; that   
his voice was steadily growing weaker and more emotional.   
  
"The night of the extraction, there was supposed to be a big gathering. Quinn   
never told me exactly when they would be pulling me out, so it surprised the crap   
out of me when they stormed the building. People just started shooting…. God,   
Terri, I could practically see the blood spurting in the air. Somebody shot me in   
the arm and I dropped my gun. Before I could even get my bearings, they shot   
my in the thigh and grabbed me by the back of my collar and started dragging me   
away."  
  
Stiles sobbed openly and Terri could feel her own tears streaming down her face   
as she watched this man, who was the strongest she knew, start to fall apart at   
the seams.  
  
"Then I heard the screams… and I swore time stood still. As clearly as if it'd   
happened yesterday, I remember John-boy turning his head to see what had   
happened and Fiona was just standing there… her mouth was slack and she   
looked stunned. She fell to her knees and there was blood streaming from her   
mouth… she was dead before her body even hit the ground. He turned to me…   
and looking back at it now, I think he *knew* what was truly going on… there was   
this look… I thought it was anger… but it was *betrayal*. He lifted his gun… I   
thought he was gonna shoot who ever was holding me, but he was aiming at   
*me*. Before I could even move to struggle, John-boy was down too and   
whoever was left standing from the Cell just started shooting again, falling back   
to protect the bodies… then everything went black after that.  
  
Stiles realized he was crying by now, but there was nothing he could do as he   
continued to purge his soul.  
  
"You don't have to go on," started Terri, practically begging him to stop.  
  
"No… I have to for you to understand."  
  
Terri nodded and watching her reflection, he continued. "When I woke up, I was   
in a holding cell and Quinn was just standing there. He didn't have to say   
anything…. Although I'd completed my mission, I could see the disappointment in   
his eyes. He knew that if I hadn't been extracted when I was, there would have   
been no turning back for me…. I didn't see him again after that. Some other   
spook debriefed me. I asked what had happened after I blacked out and he said   
they retreated. I asked if Jonathan O'Brien was dead… he didn't answer. I was   
simply instructed to keep my mouth shut and return to duty.   
  
"It took a while… I couldn't sleep without hearing the screams, without seeing   
that *look* on his face. I knew I was lucky to be alive and over time, I started to   
forget…."  
  
"Until that photo…."  
  
Stiles nodded. His tears had stopped and he furiously scrubbed at his face   
before he turned back to Terri. "It finally makes sense. Quinn and I had always   
wondered why, after all those years of laying low and making us believe he was   
dead or had disappeared, he would do something so stupid like allowing himself   
to be captured on camera. But I think he wanted us to know that he was alive…."  
  
"Why all the subterfuge, Stiles?" Terri finally asked the question that had been   
nagging at the back of her brain. "Why pretend not to know Jonathan O'Brien?"  
  
"No one was supposed to know about the US focus on the IRA. That's the   
diplomatic responsibility of the UK. We didn't want to spark any diplomatic   
warfare with our greatest ally."  
  
"So you just kept your mouth shut during all those killings…?"  
  
"There was nothing we could do, Terri!" Stiles was suddenly on the defensive   
and presented his back to her once more. "There was nothing we could do," he   
whispered again.  
  
An uncomfortable silence descended. Terri absorbed all that Stiles had told her.   
She could see him watching her reflection in the mirror – perched on the couch,   
her knees drawn to her chest, her damp hair a curtain about her face. She lifted   
her head and her eyes met his, giving him silent permission to continue.  
  
But he didn't… he couldn't.   
  
Terri took the initiative, goading him again into telling her what had happened.   
"He took me and our son, Stiles… why?" her tone was mild but they could both   
hear the underlying tension in it.  
  
Stiles heaved a sigh. "You were a means to an end, Terri." He checked his jaw.   
"He used you as a pawn to get to me…."  
  
"And you 'sold' your soul?" Terri asked softly.  
  
Stiles nodded slowly, unable to meet her eyes even in the window's reflection.  
"How?" Terri wasn't sure she wanted to know, but she *needed* to.  
  
"In exchange for your life and Alex's," he whispered so softly, if she couldn't see   
his lips moving in his reflection she would've sworn he hadn't spoken at all, "I   
have to kill Martin Archer before he leaves for Ireland in a fortnight."  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
John-boy watched the blonde-haired man slumped in his chair at the breakfast   
bar in the huge kitchen of the apartment. Even from his position by the threshold   
of the room, he could smell the stench of alcohol. Sure enough, as he made his   
way over to the table, he spied a bottle of Jack Daniel's with the dregs barely   
visible. He sat down opposite the man and sighed. He understood the man's   
need to drown his grief and anger in alcohol. He was a good actor, but privately   
he knew that even after all this time, he didn't quite have the stomach for it all.  
  
Michael O'Leary struggled to lift his head. Between his ears felt like it was stuffed   
with cotton wool – cotton wool that weighed a ton. He opened his bloodshot eyes   
and stared at the man sitting across from him. "I miss her," he whispered   
heartbrokenly and tears started to roll down his cheeks.  
  
"I know. You didn't do it," John-boy said softly.  
  
Michael sniffled and struggled to wipe his tears away. "You know I wouldn't have   
been able to…." He'd been part of the crowd at McGinty's. He'd seen Stiles   
sitting there with Jonathan. His gun had been an sure weight in his pocket and he   
was perfectly in line to let a bullet fly into the back in his skull. But he couldn't.   
  
John-boy shrugged his shoulders. It wasn't his place to judge or make the man   
feel worse than he already did. "You deserve to be angry… we all do. He   
betrayed us…." He reluctantly met his friend's eyes. "But he loved Fiona too…."  
  
Michael sobbed. "And she loved him, too." Maybe that was what he deserved to   
be most angry about – the fact that Fiona had had nothing but fond memories of   
the man who was destined to get her killed, whilst he had been in ignorant   
marital bliss four thousand miles away.  
  
John-boy reached across the table and laid a heavy hand against brother-in-  
law's shoulder. "It'll all be over soon, Mikey. I promise."  
  
TBC…  
  
A/N: I'm not sure you'll appreciate it much, but I'm taking a more sympathetic air   
towards those two. I know there's no justification for what they've done in the   
past and what they plan to do in the future – war is pointless and murder is well,   
wrong. But at the same time, I'm trying to take a more objective outlook. You'll   
see what I mean in the future. Please R&R, tell me what you think. 


	19. Chapter 19

Show: The Agency  
  
Title: The American Family Chapter 19  
  
Disclaimer: See Chapter 1  
  
A/N: Thanks for all the great comments; I really appreciated each and every one   
of them. I'm sorry about the delay, but it took a while to get my thoughts together.   
This chapter will be a filler of sorts… giving you a little more background   
information on just who Fiona O'Brien is.   
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Terri wasn't sure how quite to take that announcement either. Good thing she   
was already sitting because, if she'd been standing, her legs certainly would   
have given out on her. Her breath was expelled sharply, as if she'd punched in   
the gut.  
  
Stiles felt as though he were drowning… drowning in his guilt, drowning in this   
feeling of being helpless, drowning in this feeling or waiting in the near silence for   
Terri to continue.  
  
Terri took a deep soul-cleansing breath and sighed. Everything was suddenly   
forced into perspective. "Are you going to do it?" Stiles said nothing. "You're not   
going to do it?" she asked incredulously when he still hadn't replied.  
  
"What do you want me to do, Terri?" he scrubbed at his face with the heels of his   
hand. "John-boy forced my hand –"  
  
"But we're here, Stiles. Alex and I, we're here, and we're safe," she broke in, on   
the brink of hysteria. She was grasping at straws – she knew it, they both knew it   
– but she couldn't help it. What John-boy meant for Stiles to do was commit   
treason by assassinating a US Government official – a crime punishable by   
death!  
  
"What's to stop John-boy from coming back? Why are you even here? I don't   
know anything Terri…. But I *do* know that if I don't do what he wants we all   
probably be dead before the sun sets on the day Martin Archer's plane takes off   
for Ireland." He turned to her and caught her hands in his, settling himself beside   
her on the couch.  
  
Terri wanted to weep. "Let's just take Alex and leave, Stiles. Go anywhere…   
anywhere but here."  
  
Stiles wished he could, but his hands were tied. John-boy would never have   
given his family back if he hadn't had a backup plan. For once, he needed to be   
the voice of reason. He shook his head silently.   
  
That was all the answer she needed.  
  
She took another deep breath and pulled her hands away. Her lashes lifted and   
she met Stiles' blue-eyed gaze. "Well, you're gonna need some help…."  
  
Stiles' eyes narrowed and he shook his head emphatically. "No way, Terri! I don't   
want you involved in this any more than you all ready are. This is *my* burden! I'll   
be the one to do what needs to be done and deal with the consequences!"  
  
"Jonathan O'Brien took my *son*, A.B. Stiles; Michael O'Leary…"she couldn't   
bear to continue. "I'm already involved! I became involved in this sick plan of his   
the second they decided to get to me through you, so don't you dare suddenly   
develop this cave man complex… we'll protect this family *together*."   
  
The two fell silent, flashing brown eyes battling with startlingly blue orbs.  
  
"Mommy?" they heard a small voice from the landing of the apartment's short   
flight of stairs.  
  
Immediately both parents' heads whipped towards the sound to find Alex   
standing there, sleepily wiping the unexplained sleep from his face. CIA textbook   
fashion, all signs of anger and distress dropped from their visage as their son   
wobbled toward them and wiggled between them on the couch.  
  
"What are we doin' here, mommy?" he asked, settling himself into the cradle of   
his mother's arm and resting his head on her chest. "Weren't we supposed to go   
on an adventure?"  
  
Terri's eyes widened and her gaze immediately crashed into Stiles' mirrored   
shock.   
  
**What the hell?** both parents thought simultaneously.  
  
But before Stiles or Terri could bend to ask him what he remembered about this   
weekend, A.B.2's face scrunched up and turned green. He barely angled his   
head away and mumbled a jumbled, "Idon'tfeelsogoodmommy," before her   
retched on the floor.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
She was the most beautiful bride in the world.  
  
Even with her attire of faded jeans, a pink T-shirt and a drooping handful of wild   
daisies for her bouquet instead of the flowing white dress and thirty rose bouquet,   
he *still* thought she was the most beautiful bride in the world with her bright   
mane of red hair cascading down her back, flashing emerald eyes and the   
scattering of brown sugar freckles across her nose which scrunched   
pugnaciously as she smiled at him, walking down the stairs of the rundown pub   
to meet him and the priest at the bottom by the bar.   
  
**Look at that!** he mused. **A pug-nosed chit of an eighteen-year-old girl   
reducing a grown man to quaking knees and sweating palms.**  
  
If possible, Fiona's smile grew even wider as her brother handed her off and she   
took Michael's trembling palm in her own.  
  
They turned to the priest as one, but he doesn't remember much about the   
ceremony, only that when the priest announced they were husband and wife and   
he could kiss the bride, he'd been filled with such joy looking in her face; she was   
his light and he she was gone, he would die.  
  
Nineteen years later, Michael jerked from his dream, his body awash with cold   
sweats, the sweet sound of her laughter reverberating in his ears. He started to   
weep; his light was gone.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Stiles and Terri were filled with such panic as they watched their son heave what   
little he had in his guts. But the second he lifted his head, the pain faded and he   
looked at them with a wobbly, though embarrassed, smile.  
  
"I feel betta now, mommy," he announced.  
  
Such relief suffused her, she thought she would keel over. Instead, she grabbed   
her son and crushed him to her body. A.B2 squirmed in her arms. "Mommy!" he   
exclaimed. "Lemme go!"  
  
A tremulous laugh escaped Terri's lips as her gaze met Stiles' over Alex's head.   
His own relief was mirrored in his eyes. Pasting a smile to her face, she swept   
her son in her arms at up the stairs, asking good-naturedly of her cooking was   
*that* bad.  
  
Stiles watched them go before releasing a breath he hadn't even known he'd   
been holding.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Watching across the table, the now empty bottle of whisky between them, the   
soldier in him goaded him to scold, "Pull yerself t'gether, man!" Even now, he   
could feel the words forming at the back of his tongue, but he kept his mouth   
shut.  
  
He knew for whom the man was weeping. He had wept for her and his brother so   
many times in the past himself. He allowed the quiet weeping to continue for a   
few minutes more before he laid a heavy hand on the shoulder of his sister's   
widower. He sought to give comfort from the grief the only way he knew how: "Ye   
need another bottle."  
  
Hell's bells, if this weeping kept up, he'd need one too.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
The vomit removed from the floor, and a small sampling secured (simply   
because he could not satisfy his curiosity), Stiles collapsed exhausted on the   
couch. He checked his watch – minutes to three – but sleep was not his friend.   
Hearing light footsteps coming down the stairs, he looked back to see Terri   
heading towards him again. She had pulled her hair back and had twisted it into   
a lopsided French braid and he could see the burning questions in her tired eyes.  
  
But, as she settled next to him on the couch, she did something he never thought   
she would do again. Instead of firing off the questions she obviously harbored,   
she scooted to his side of the couch and, settled her legs over his and burrowed   
into the warmth of his body.  
  
"Hold me," she whispered softly.  
  
Stiles was frozen in shock before his arm surrounded her shoulder and wrapped   
around her waist. Terri sighed and turned her nose into his chest and fell into a   
deep sleep.  
  
Captivated by her beauty and the strange aroma of the scent that was uniquely   
Terri's intermingled with his Irish Spring soap and the Gain he washed his   
clothes with tantalized his nostrils. He tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear and   
kissed the top of her head reverently.   
  
He didn't how long he watched her before he fell into slumber. He would only   
remember the dream….  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
She was a temptress.  
  
Any stouthearted good Catholic altar boy would have recognized that and likened   
her to a redheaded Succubus, tempting them towards everlasting damnation with   
her body.  
  
But not Stiles.  
  
When he'd first met her, she'd been an annoying thirteen-year-old know-it-all who   
couldn't have cared less for John-boy's "foul-mouthed American friend." Over   
time, he'd grown to accept her as the little sister he'd never had, for puberty had   
been more than kind to her, lovingly shaping each curve until she was endowed   
beyond many a grown man's fantasy, and he had been involved in more than his   
share of fisticuffs over her honor.  
  
He hadn't recognized the signs, hadn't read anything into the special smile she   
bestowed on him every time she saw, the way her skirts got shorter and the   
necks of her T-shirts droopier whenever she knew he was coming around for   
supper or when she hung around the pub waiting for Niall to get off from work.   
  
But he'd certainly known Fiona didn't just see him as a big brother when she   
kissed him soundly on the lips.  
  
That spring, they'd been a surprise heat wave and it had been abominably hot,   
especially by Dublin standards. Grandpa had been reduced to his undershirts   
and it wasn't alien to see men walking down the streets their chests and armpits   
soaked with sweat. One night, the fans in the pub had stopped circulating and   
he'd been dispatched to see about the problem. He'd taken Fiona as a   
companion and, problem solved, he had been bounding back up the stairs to the   
pub when she grabbed his arm with surprising strength, pushed his back to the   
wall and planted her lips over his.  
  
He had been frozen in shock, his wrists pinned to the wall beside him as her   
inexperienced lips roved his in the dim basement. But when his mind finally   
caught up with him, he hadn't been filled with disgust to be kissing his 'sister',   
instead, as many a horny teenage boy would, he had felt only her soft curves   
pressed into his angles as she pressed her body closer to his. His instinct had   
kicked in then and he found him kissing her back, taking control of the kiss,   
schooling her in the art of the French kiss, his tongue lightly stroking the roof of   
her mouth causing him to whimper and press closer to him.  
  
When she felt the hard evidence of his arousal poking her in her belly she pulled   
away abruptly. She was shocked and her face flushed in the dark as Stiles' chest   
heaved in exertion and the sudden shocking desire to touch her.  
  
She'd turned and fled and Stiles, who'd not been a virgin even when he'd first   
arrived in Ireland was reduced to waiting below in the dark for his ardour to cool.  
  
That night, laying asleep to Danny he'd heard the tiny spray of gravel rocks   
outside his window. He was used to this – John-boy did it often when he needed   
to talk, often in the middle of the night. He thought nothing of it when he got out   
of his bed, clad only in his boxers and opened the window. Imagine his surprise   
when he looked out to see Fiona, still clad in the clothes she'd been wearing   
earlier, staring up at him.  
  
"Fiona, are you crazy?" he whispered heatedly, checking behind him to see if   
Danny was still asleep. Of course he was… Danny slept like the dead. "What are   
you doing here? Go home, now!"  
  
She simply shook her head. "I want t'talk t'ye, A.B."  
  
"Are you daft? It's the middle of the night. Go home. You can talk to me in the   
morning."  
  
Fiona shook her head and crossed her arms militantly across her chest.  
  
Stiles cursed. He knew that stance – she wouldn't be budging until she got her   
way. "Hold on a second. I'll be right there, then I'll walk you home." He turned   
around, reaching for his pants and a T-shirt he dressed quickly, shoved his feet   
in his trainers and casting one more hapless look at Danny, cursing him for his   
sleeping habits, he climbed out the window.  
  
Joining her in the small garden at the back of the pub, he looked at her crossly   
but she simply grabbed his hand and started hurrying away.  
  
"What has gotten into you, girl?" he asked, whispering softly so they wouldn't   
wake anyone as he hurried to keep up with her.   
  
Before long, they arrived at the train tracks and she ducked into a boxcar that   
they had adopted as theirs a year ago. Fiona stopped and turned to him.  
  
Looking at his surroundings, he realized that talking was the furthest thing from   
Fiona O'Brien's mind. The cot in the corner had on fresh sheets and there was   
candles strewn about the room.  
  
He should've backed away and ran like hell. But the stupid testosterone junkie in   
him did nothing. She stepped into his space and kissed him….  
  
It all went downhill from there.  
  
He had taken her virginity… his bestfriend's sister. Right there on the paper-thin   
mattress in the abandoned train station. He hadn't been thinking about anything   
but the softness of her skin, the sweetness of her mouth, the warmth of her   
body…. John-boy and all of Dublin could've descended on them right then but he   
would've died willing because nothing had ever seemed so sweet as when she   
had cried out his name in her first taste of pleasure.   
  
But the next day he'd done her wrong, he couldn't look her in the eyes. He   
wouldn't stay in the same room alone with her. He'd felt guilty and eventually,   
he'd cornered her and explained what they did while beautiful, shouldn't have   
happened.   
  
She'd told him she loved him.  
  
He told her he loved her too, just not the way she'd deserved to be loved.  
  
She'd been heartbroken… but the next day, she'd been flirting with Ben   
McKenzie, right in front of him…. But had chucked him away the second she   
thought he wasn't looking.  
  
Stiles' eyes snapped open… he now knew what Michael O'Leary's part in this   
whole mess was….  
  
TBC…  
  
A/N: I hope you enjoyed. This story has totally gone off on a tangent to what I   
had planned. I hadn't expected to be writing this sort of story filled with danger   
and betrayal – I had been planning a light witty piece filled with the 'joys' of   
parenthood – but I hope you enjoyed nonetheless. Leave a review telling me   
what you think so far.  
  
Cara 


	20. Chapter 20

Show: The Agency  
  
Title: The American Family – Chapter 20  
  
Disclaimer: See Chapter One  
  
A/N: First off, let me apologise for this atrociously long delay between chapters.   
Needless to say that life and school especially intervened. That said, thank you very much   
for last chapter's comments; I really appreciated them so, please, keep them coming.   
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Stiles was surprised to see Terri's curious brown eyes peering intently at him. Only when   
the blush starting to suffuse her cheeks, did he realize why. Terri was perched in his lap,   
her fingers tightly gripping his shoulders. She embarrassedly cleared her throat and   
climbed off his lap. "You were tossing in your sleep," she explained. "I tried to wake you   
up."  
  
"Sorry," Stiles replied, his voice hoarse with the remembered dream. His body was   
soaked with sweat and his breathing was laboured. He swallowed heavily and stood   
up, still reeling from his realization.  
  
"You said her name in your sleep," Terri said softly.  
  
Stiles whirled to face her. "What?"  
  
"Fiona. You said her name in your sleep. Were you remembering the shootout?" she   
asked, her voice filled with concern.  
  
Stiles shook his head, but he wasn't about to tell her he was thinking of the night he took   
his bestfriend's sister's virginity.   
  
"Oh," Terri replied, not comfortable with the spate of jealousy that was gnawing her   
stomach. Somehow she knew there was much more between Stiles and Fiona than he let   
on.  
  
"I know why Michael O'Leary's involved in this mess."  
  
At the mention of the man's name, Terri paled and looked away hastily. "Oh? What is   
it?"  
  
"He was Fiona's husband."  
  
"What?" Terri asked incredulously. She hadn't known Michael had been married, much   
less widowed. But then again, she hadn't known much about either Michael O'Leary   
she'd been acquainted with.  
  
Stiles wiped away the lingering fatigue in his eyes. "How could I have been so blind,   
Terri? I mean, I looked at this man's file and it was *there*." He of course was thinking   
back to when he'd pulled Michael's file after his argument with Terri after her first date.   
He hadn't batted an eyelid at the name of his deceased wife – Fiona and O'Brien were   
common names, after all. But now, he could see it clearly in his mind's eye:  
  
** Name: Michael Patrick O'Leary  
  
D.O.B: August 10th 1965  
  
Birthplace: Boston, Mass.  
  
Marital Status: Widower – Deceased wife: *Fiona O'Leary nee O'Brien*  
  
Next of kin: Jason O'Leary (brother); Liam O'Leary (uncle)  
  
Occupation: Advisor, U.S. Department of International Relations  
  
Bio… **  
  
"Damn it! I remember now! When I went back to Ireland I distinctly remember the line   
of where the ring was supposed to be on her finger. She gave me some cock and bull   
story and I believed it, but I'd heard the rumours that she'd been married…."  
  
John-boy had not been pleased whenever he'd seen Stiles and Fiona together… now he   
knew why. Fiona had still been married and now her widower was out to seek revenge.   
And, from the way Terri paled when his name was mentioned, apparently he was well on   
his way to doing so.   
  
"You and Fiona weren't just friends, were you?" she asked, voicing her opinion.  
  
**Was her tone just a bit accusatory?** Stiles couldn't help but wonder. "What ever we had   
was over long before I went back to Ireland, Terri," he finally answered after a pregnant   
pause.   
  
His diplomatic answer gave her all the proof she needed – Stiles and Fiona had been   
lovers. Had he been an unknowing accomplice in an adulterous relationship? Inwardly,   
she shuddered; she didn't want to think about it. She checked her watch instead. It was   
approaching five-thirty and she was beyond exhausted.  
  
"Goddamn it!" Stiles spat. "This is all such a frickin' mess!" He wished he could just   
press a magical rewind button and do it all over again. He would never have touched far less  
slept with Fiona; he would have told Quinn to go to hell… but then, he thought, he would never   
had joined the CIA, never have met Terri, never have been given a son… so maybe it all   
meant something.   
  
"Do you think Michael blames you for Fiona's death?"   
  
Stiles heaved a sigh. "Yes, that's more than likely."  
  
Terri swallowed and she realized she been absentmindedly pulling on her ear – a sign of   
nervousness. "Do you think," she paused and actually started scratching the inside of her   
wrist, her sharp nails agitating the sensitive skin, " do you think he used *me* as a means   
to get back at you?"  
  
Her question had only reconfirmed what he'd been thinking – she'd slept with him. He   
asked her.   
  
For the longest moments Terri didn't say anything, but her scratching became even more   
persistent until Stiles had to reach out and capture her hand and stop her from puncturing   
the skin over her wrists.   
  
"Did he *rape* you?" Stiles' incredulous question was only barely a whisper.  
  
Hot tears of anger and fear and confusion started pooling in Terri's eyes. "I don't know,   
Stiles. At the time, it seemed like *my* choice… I *never* said 'no'." she pulled her   
wrists away. "The next morning, I realized I'd been drugged…."  
  
"Sonofabitch!" Stiles exploded. "I'll kill him!" he ranted. "If I see him, I'll kill him! To   
hell with what John-boy thinks!"  
  
"No!" Terri broke in. "You can't go off on some pissing contest with Michael, Stiles!   
This is *my* fault; I let myself be taken in by his lies!"  
  
"No, Terri, can't you see? This whole mess is *my* fault. I should never have let Quinn   
talk me into betraying the best friend I ever had. I could've just said no," he added,   
though he wasn't quite sure he believed it.  
  
The two fell silent. All around them, they could feel the sleepy neighbourhood waking   
up. Somewhere down the hall, a door slammed and footsteps could be heard hurrying   
down the corridor.  
  
"So what now?" Terri asked. The weekend was soon over and the deadline for Archer's   
assassination was coming sooner rather than later. They had to formulate some type of   
plan.   
  
Stiles, now resigned that he could not go through with the assassination without Terri's   
help, sighed. "Tomorrow, we go into work. Act *normal*, whatever the hell that word   
means. My instructions on the when and where should come by the end of the week," he   
went on to explain. "After that we'll have another week to decide how to get out of this   
mess."  
  
Terri knew he'd added that for her benefit, but the CIA Agent in her knew that it would   
never be that easy.  
  
"I'll take you and Alex back home today and I'll swing by the lab with his vomit sample   
to find out if they gave him something to make him forget."  
  
Terri nodded and then thought back to that night not so long ago when she'd had the   
strangest feeling that she was being watched. "I think my house is bugged."  
  
Stiles looked stricken but he wouldn't put it past John-boy to have been watching Terri's   
every waking – and sleeping – mood. "I'll pick up some equipment on my way back."  
  
The particulars discussed, they lapsed into silence again. Terri's French braid was   
walking out and soft tendrils of hair framed her face and fell into her shadowed eyes.   
"It's still early out," Stiles began, tucking a strand behind her ear. "You look exhausted;   
you should try to get some more sleep."  
  
"What about you?" she asked.  
  
"I'm fine."  
  
Terri's eyes narrowed. "You're exhausted, too. Admit it, Stiles."  
  
"I'll be *fine*. Go get some sleep. I'll grab a shower and head to the office."  
  
Terri knew pushing would only lead to a wall being thrown up so she nodded in   
compliance and headed upstairs to her son's bedroom.  
  
Stiles sighed heavily. How the hell was he going to get himself out of this mess now?  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
He'd actually dawdled over breakfast – dry whole-wheat toast and a cup of black coffee –   
before he went upstairs to grab a shower. As he passed Alex's bedroom, he couldn't help   
but push the partially closed door open. Both Alex and Terri were fast asleep – Terri   
spooning her son's body, one arm around his waist and her chin resting against his baby-  
fine dark hair. As he looked at them, he felt that fierce protective lion that resides within   
every good man with a family, roaring. He'd be damned if John-boy hurt his family again   
– he'd see his 'friend' in hell before he let that happen again.  
  
Now, he'd just stepped out of the shower and pulled on his underwear and his jeans and   
was towel-drying his hair as he stepped from the steamy bathroom into the hall when   
Alex's bedroom door opened and Terri popped into the hall.  
  
Stiles' hand paused in mid-stroke as Terri abruptly paused when she realized she and   
Alex were not alone as expected. They took silent stock of one another and Terri could   
curse herself for the tingling awareness that pooled low in her stomach at the sight of   
him. But what red-blooded woman wouldn't when six feet of delectable half-naked Celt   
God was standing before you? She could feel the flush rising in her cheeks again and she   
looked away before memories of how just delectable he was started barreling through her   
mind.   
  
"I need to use the bathroom," she finally spoke up resuming her short walk to the   
bathroom.  
  
Her words snapped Stiles from his temporary stupor and he dropped his arm. "Sure," he   
stepped aside but not soon enough as she just brushed against him, all soft curves and soft   
cotton, as she popped past him into the bathroom and closed the door in his face.  
  
Thank God she was going home today!  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
If the guards were surprised to see him come into the office that morning, they did a good   
job of hiding it. Stiles kept his trademark stoic, calm and aloof military bearing as he   
headed towards the elevators and pressed for the floor to OTS. He was hoping Lex was   
the one who'd drawn the short straw again for weekend duty; it would be easier to bully   
him into keeping his mouth shut. Joshua, on the other hand, would be a damn sight harder   
to 'coerce' or to fool.  
  
Lady Luck was, fortunately, with him for, as the elevator doors slid open, he caught sight   
of the brown-haired man slumped over his desk amidst a myriad of Styrofoam coffee cups.   
Stiles smirked; this would be easier than he thought.  
  
"Lex!" Stiles purposefully banged against the metal table, causing the assortment of cups   
to jump with the jolt.  
  
The tech's head snapped up and he looked like a dear caught in the headlights as he tried   
to establish firstly, where the hell he was and secondly, who had woken him up.  
  
Stiles, aiding him in his efforts, waved a hand before the younger man's face and Lex   
blinked rapidly, bringing his blurred vision to focus enough to recognize the man   
standing before him. "Stiles?" he asked incredulously. "What time is it?" he asked,   
looking down at his watch. His stomach flip-flopped and trying to read the tiny numbers   
in the dial threatened to give him one hell of a headache.   
  
"Seven-thirty," Stiles supplied before launching right in. "Listen, Lex, I need a favour." He took  
the small vial from his pocket and set it on the table before him.   
  
Lex's nose wrinkled as he looked at the suspicious orange liquid that looked strangely   
like – "Is that what I think it is?" he asked.  
  
"Probably. Listen, I need to get this analysed, ASAP."  
  
"This isn't a lab, Stiles. Why don't you just go downstairs and get it…." He trailed off at   
the fire that suddenly became lit behind Stiles' eyes. "Right!" he sped on, snatching up   
the vial. "A couple hours fine?" Stiles' eyes narrowed. "One hour it is!"  
  
Stiles smiled tightly and for a second Lex thought he strangely resembled Quinn.   
"*Perfect*."  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Forty-five minutes later, Lex strode back to his desk to find Stiles wearing holes in the   
carpet pacing back and forth. Hearing the tech approach Stiles lifted a questioning brow,   
not wanting to appear too eager.   
  
"Well," began Lex, peering down at the graphs on the toxicology report, "you've got   
your average stomach contents, they probably had chicken and potatoes for dinner and   
whoever it is eats far too much candy… all the sugar…" he trailed off at Stiles' look.   
"Right, everything appears normal except for this," he pointed it out to the other man.   
"That's tripropylbutanoate - TPB."  
  
"Speak English, Lex," growled Stiles.   
  
"Well, Stiles, in small amounts, it makes a person relaxed and unresponsive; it's   
sometimes used as a sedative for children with a medium to severe hyperactive disorder.   
But in large amounts, for example the amount this person ingested, it can practically wipe   
a person's memory. It's a mob weapon; highly effective I believe… forced amnesia for   
the twenty-first century. Sure beats being clobbered over the head with a baseball bat."  
  
"Lex!"  
  
Lex immediately stopped his babbling. "So, yeah…. This thing, you can't just pick up off   
the street. It needs to be prescribed and only by a neurological specialist."  
  
"Is it dangerous?" Stiles asked, holding his breath and hoping for the best.  
  
Lex shrugged. "Only side-effects from prolonged use are dizziness and runny-noses. For   
excessive use, it can cause indigestion and vomiting and of course, there's the memory   
loss. Other than that, it's relatively safe."  
  
Stiles released a relief breath and snatched the paper from Lex's hand. "Thanks, Lex. Hey   
I gotta go. Mind keeping this on the downlow?"   
  
"Sure," replied a baffled Lex. "Mind me asking who –"  
  
By that time, Stiles had already sprinted away from the room.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
"TPB?" asked Terri incredulously. "Isn't that a sedative?" she whispered in continuation.  
  
"Yeah," Stiles replied, shoving his hands further into the pockets of his leather jacket.   
They were standing beneath a shady oak tree in the park just a block from Stiles'   
apartment, just one set of parents keeping a watchful eye on their son as he played in the   
sandbox with a few other children his age. "But Lex said the amount Alex ingested was   
enough to wipe his memory."  
  
"Yes," Terri replied in relief. "TPB is a 21st century drug fortunately – no dangerous side-  
effects."  
  
They lapsed into silence, watching as their son laughed with other children, oblivious to   
the turmoil his parents' life was in.   
  
"This relief we feel… it's only going to be short-lived isn't it?" asked Terri tremulously.  
  
Stiles turned to the mother of his son. He felt that familiar tug on his heartstrings as he   
looked down into her face. He gathered her closer to his side, seeking to give her some of   
his strength. "Not if I have anything to do with it."  
  
TBC…  
  
A/N: Well, what did you think? Enjoyed? Well, drop me a line to let me know, you know   
I practically live for those things. BTW: I have no idea what tripropylbutanoate is - I made it up, lol. 


	21. Chapter 21

Show: The Agency  
  
Title: The American Family  
  
Disclaimer: See Chapter One  
  
HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY TAF… YOU'RE ONE YEAR OLD!!!  
  
A/N: Thanks for last chapter's comments. I apologise for the delay, by now you should   
be more shocked by early postings than late ones. Don't forget to review!  
  
To note: I live in the Caribbean, so I have no idea how far behind Virginia is from   
Barbados, so I'm saying one hour, meaning that Irish time will be just about five hours in   
front of Virginia. I have absolutely no idea what colour Joshua's eyes are, so I guessed.   
CIA Headquarters is in Langley, right? Is that an actual city or what?  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
"Hey."  
  
Stiles looked to up to see Terri poised at the threshold of his small kitchen. It was just   
after seven, but she was already dressed for work. Stiles hid a small smile of appreciation   
as he took in her cream coloured slacks and lilac shirt with tiny cap sleeves. Her wavy   
hair was tamed into a bun at the nape of her neck, a far cry from the messy French braid   
it had employed for the most of the weekend.  
  
It was Monday now and inwardly he frowned, thinking of the hard week that was sure to   
come.  
  
"Morning," he replied, lifting up his coffee mug. "Coffee?"  
  
"Sure." Terri ambled further into the immaculate kitchen and poured herself a cup of   
coffee. He'd already dressed for work – long-sleeved Tee, jeans and boots – and was   
flipping through the morning paper. As she took a sip of the surprisingly good java, her   
mind took her back to how they'd gotten to this point.  
  
After leaving the park, he had driven her and Alex back to their house. The moment she   
stepped through the door, the feeling of uneasiness that had bothered her before had   
developed into a full-fledged plague. She had visibly begun to shake and felt like retching   
when, after he'd sent Alex up to his room, he'd found the first bug nestled between the   
folds of the curtains.   
  
It didn't take a genius to know that there were plenty more where that one had come from   
and his decision had been spontaneous: "Pack a bag," he'd said. "You two are staying   
with me."  
  
Just over twelve hours later, they were undertaking their first exercise in twenty-first   
century domesticity.   
  
"How'd you sleep?" Stiles asked, struggling to make small talk.  
  
"Ok," she answered. Truthfully, she hadn't slept more than two hours at a time, waking   
up more than once choking on a maternal instinct of wondering if her child was all right.   
A.B.2 had slept on blissfully unaware as Terri lay spooned behind him listening to the   
steadiness of his breathing and inhaling the sweet scent of his shampoo. This morning   
when she'd taken a look at her drawn and pale face she'd given thanks to the wonderful   
invention of concealer.  
  
Stiles nodded, knowing she was lying but probably not wanting to give testament to the   
fact.   
  
For some reason, her conscience wouldn't let it rest at that. "No, that's a lie."  
  
Stiles arched a brow. "I figured as much."  
  
Terri smiled ruefully. "What about you?" she asked softly.  
  
Stiles pursed his lips in thought. He hadn't gotten much sleep either. "The same."  
  
Terri heaved a huge sigh as Stiles drained his coffee cup.   
  
"You want some breakfast?" he asked, looking pointedly to the fridge. "I went to the   
market," he continued, reaching for the pot and pouring himself another.  
  
Terri shook her head, just short of wrinkling her nose. The thought of food made her want   
to vomit. "Coffee's fine."  
  
The two continued in silence, Stiles pretending to be interested in the sports section of the   
newspaper, Terri slowly sipping her coffee, drawing warmth from the heat radiating off   
the mug. After about ten minutes of silence, Terri checked her watch; it was just after   
seven-thirty. "I should go wake Alex up for school."  
  
"I can do that, Terri," Stiles started to say.  
  
"No!"  
  
Stiles' eyes widened at her outburst and Terri just barely managed to set the mug on the   
countertop before it slipped from her weakened fingers. "God!" she exclaimed, burying   
her face in her hands. Stiles stood up and, grasping her by her shoulders, pulled her into   
the shelter of his arms.  
  
"Shhh, Terri," he crooned softly, stroking the wispy hairs at the nape of her neck. "It's all   
right," he continued, not knowing where this sudden ability to give her comfort had come   
from. Cupping Terri's face, Stiles wiped the tears from the corner of her eyes. Her lips   
wobbled and the tears streamed more profusely.   
  
Not knowing what governed his actions, Stiles pressed a kiss to her forehead and then to   
each corner of her eyes, drinking her tears. In the midst of her breakdown Terri could feel   
the tingling awareness of her truest femininity that always arose when she was around   
him.   
  
She sighed softly as Stiles kissed the tip of her nose and instinctively, her lips lifted to   
his. Stiles' rapidly darkening blue eyes questioned Terri's equally turbulent brown eyes;   
his head slowly dipped to accept her unspoken invitation. Light as a butterfly, Stiles' lips   
brushed over Terri's tasting the saltiness of her lingering tears. His lips lingered over hers   
for a few seconds, enjoying the supple softness of the flesh until he slowly pulled away,   
millimeters at a time, their breath mingling until they hovered scant inches above hers.   
  
Terri drew in a shaky breath. It had lasted less than ten seconds in total, but the warmth of   
his large callused fingers cupping her face, and the latent power of his fleeting kiss had   
her knees quaking and forgetting her name. Stiles pressed another gentle kiss to her   
forehead and, drawing on the force of will that halted from committing the sheer lunacy   
of grabbing her and kissing her senseless, stepped away.   
  
Stiles cleared his throat as a blush crept up Terri's neck to her cheeks.   
  
"I'll go wake up Alex now," she muttered turning tail and hurrying from the kitchen.   
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
CIA Headquarters (10 a.m.)  
  
Terri absentmindedly twirled the silver pen expertly between her fingers as she stared   
unseeingly at her computer screen.  
  
Joshua, noticing her distraction, called out. "Ms. Lowell?"   
  
No response.  
  
Joshua frowned. This was unlike Terri. He reached out and touched her shoulder lightly.   
"Terri?"  
  
At the touch of his hand on her shoulder Terri started, unnecessary fear gripping her   
system. She was filled with a sudden seemingly foolish urge to scream but, realizing who   
had touched her, she visibly relaxed. "Joshua…."  
  
Joshua's frown deepened. "Are you ok?" he asked, knowing something was not quite   
right.  
  
Terri's eyes dropped from his shrewdly assessing gaze. "Just a little distracted."  
  
**And more than a little freaked out.** his mind couldn't help but add. "Are you getting   
enough sleep?" he asked, his eyes taking note of the violet crescents under her eyes; her   
concealer hadn't done as great a job as she'd hoped.   
  
For some reason, Terri didn't hold her tongue. "Not really," she replied, heaving a heavy   
sigh. "I've been losing sleep worrying over this Sumac Cell catastrophe," she continued with the half-lie.  
  
Joshua's lips flattened as he regarded the woman who he loved like a daughter. He didn't believe what she said about the Sumac Cell entirely. Terri was off her rocker a bit, not in a crazy unbalanced way, but that special light that shone in her   
eyes had noticeably dimmed. "Tell you what, why don't you take the rest of the day off, huh?"  
  
"What?" Terri practically sputtered. "I only just got here," she continued, knowing   
without even looking at her watch that it wasn't even eleven o'clock yet.  
  
"No, Ms. Lowell, your body's here; your mind's probably still at home sleeping. You've   
not been much of a help this morning. Go home, get some sleep. You look like you need   
it. I promise I wont tell Quinn."  
  
Terri's brown eyes met Joshua's gray ones. The concern she saw swimming there was   
touching. She could feel her pride egging her to refuse his offer to go home and buckle   
down and do some work. But, heavens, she was tired! So fricking tired. "I'm not so sure   
that's a good idea…."  
  
Joshua smiled tightly and squeezed her shoulder. "Bright and early tomorrow, Ms.   
Lowell."  
  
Terri tiredly returned her supervisor's smile. "Of course." She settled her purse over her   
shoulder and headed for the door where she paused. "Thanks, Joshua," she said softly.  
  
Joshua's back was turned to her and he impatiently waved her off.  
  
Terri smiled; it was nice to know he cared.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
(half an hour later)  
  
Stiles stuck his head through the door of OTS and scanned the office. His eyes landed on   
Lex and Joshua and a few other nameless techs hunched over their workstations but   
Terri's terminal was empty.  
  
"Hey, Lex," he called. "Have you seen Terri?"  
  
Lex opened his mouth to answer but Joshua cut him off.   
  
"I sent her home earlier, Mr. Stiles," Joshua said, coming towards the other man.  
  
"Is something wrong?" Stiles asked, his mind jumping to worst-case scenarios especially   
after the weekend's events.   
  
"She looked tired, distracted. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?" he   
asked pointedly, lifting a silver eyebrow.  
  
It was funny, Stiles had been a Marine for over fifteen years, a CIA Operative for over   
five, had undergone high-jackings, interrogations and sustained numerous gunshot   
wounds and he quaked under the knowing gaze of a fifty-something techie like a fifteen-  
year-old-boy waiting on the door step to take a girl out on her first date.   
  
"Haven't a clue," he managed to mutter before turning tail and heading back to his office.  
  
Joshua frowned as he watched the former Marine beat a hasty retreat across the bullpen   
and slam the door to his office shut. He had seen the lingering glances they, meaning   
Stiles and Terri, had shot to each other when they'd stepped off the elevator… together.   
  
Something was up.   
  
But, why did he have a funny feeling it extended far beyond a rekindled affair?  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
(Ireland, 4:00 p.m. GMT)  
  
Gavin Thompson closed the door behind him and heaved a huge sigh as he loosened the   
cutthroat silk tie around his neck.  
  
"Still don' like 'em, eh?"   
  
Gavin didn't start at the sound of the familiar voice although he'd thought he'd been   
alone in his private domain. A wry smile came to his face as he started towards the   
shadows by his huge oak desk and the source of the question.  
  
"D'ye even have t'ask?" he replied, slipping into his much preferred brogue.  
  
Jonathan O'Brien stepped from the shadows and smiled at his PM.  
  
"Yer blonde again," Gavin quipped, shrugging off his dark blue jacket and tossing it over   
a chair. "Scotch?"  
  
John-boy nodded his head and accepted a crystal tumbler when it was handed to him,   
knowing this was a precursor delaying the inevitable.  
  
Gavin Thompson was a shrewd man; he couldn't have not been and been elected PM of   
the still hostile Northern Ireland. He turned sharp blue eyes on his visitor and lifted a   
graying eyebrow.  
  
John-boy had spent enough time in his company to know when he'd been given   
permission to speak. "I've isolated th' threat?"  
  
Both eyebrows shot up. "Have you?" Useless question. He knew John-boy wouldn't have   
said anything if he hadn't. "And?"  
  
"It was as ye'd suspected."  
  
Thompson's eyes narrowed. "Hmmmm." He took another sip of his scotch. He didn't   
relish dealing personally with these matters; or being involved in them at all. "What d'ye   
inten' t'do?"  
  
John-boy resisted the urge to roll his eyes and ask sarcastically, "What d'ye think?"   
Instead, he replied. "We've found a way."  
  
"Does it include a certain blue-eyed CIA Agent?" Gavin asked.  
  
John-boy's silence was answer enough.  
  
Gavin had seen the dossier on Stiles; had seen him whilst he was on duty protecting that   
scumbag Archer. He'd known John-boy and he had shared some history, he could only   
guess the extent of this relationship. "Are ye goin' to have the Agent kill Archer?"  
  
"Who else would ye have do it?"  
  
It was a slip of the tongue. They both knew that there were countless persons they could   
call on to do the job. Gavin just couldn't understand what was to be gained by having   
Stiles do the dirty job.   
  
"Is this personal?" he asked pointedly.  
  
"Of course, Archer is scum hiding behind good intentions. He doesn't deserve to live."  
  
"I wasn't speaking about Archer, John-boy." John-boy's answer practically confirmed all   
he'd thought.  
  
John-boy thought long and hard choosing his words carefully. "Part of it *is* personal.   
But I'm a professional, Gavin. There's always more than one part to plan A," he said   
cryptically.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
She still couldn't sleep.  
  
So she sat perched on a bench facing a swing set on the other side of the street clutching a   
warm Styrofoam cup of lemon-honey tea between her knees. She smiled absentmindedly   
at the shrieks of joyous laughter of the children.  
  
"Hey," came a voice next to her ear.  
  
The voice sent shivers down on her spine. She compulsively took a deep sip before she   
looked up to see Stiles blue eyes staring down at her. "Hey," she shakily replied.  
  
Stiles sat next to her, his eyes straying to the other side of the street, watching what she   
was watching. "What's wrong, Terri?" he asked after a few more minutes of silence   
between them as pedestrians passed them by.  
  
She tried to swallow the huge lump that suddenly became lodged in her throat. She turned   
to him, his blue eyes swimming with concern for her; a look she'd not seen for so long   
and, despite all the pain that came associated with letting herself feel for those blue eyes,   
she felt oddly comforted. "Everything," she replied. "But you can always make it better,"   
she continued, before she lifted her mouth and fused her lips to his.  
  
TBC…  
  
A/N: I know many of you are saying… FINALLY, lol. I hope you enjoyed. Don't forget   
to drop me a line or two to let me know what you're thinking. 


	22. Chapter 22

Show: The Agency  
  
Title: The American Family – Chapter 22  
  
Disclaimer: See Chapter 1  
  
A/N: Two words: writer's block. I'll add three more: Please forgive me. How about   
another four? I hope you enjoy!  
  
Stiles' Apartment, Virginia  
  
"How're you feeling?"  
  
Terri looked up to see Stiles as he quietly posed the question, leaning against the   
doorjamb of Alex's room.  
  
"Fine," she replied, wiping her face, feeling a touch embarrassed now in hindsight.  
  
Stiles nodded. "Good… I picked up Alex and dinner should be ready in about twenty   
minutes…." He bit off his words now as he wondered if she noticed how domesticated   
their situation was. Without another word, he spun on his heel and beat a hasty retreat.  
  
Terri roughly expelled a breath she hadn't even realized she'd been holding and flopped   
back onto the bed, pulling her son's Batman sheets over her head. After practically   
throwing herself at and kissing him, in broad daylight in a public park no less, how was   
she supposed to sit across from him and act normal after what could have transpired this   
afternoon?  
  
Flashback  
  
Stiles fairly froze as Terri's lips covered his. For a few long seconds, he seemed to have   
taken leave of his senses, before his instincts had kicked in and he'd taken control of the   
kiss.  
  
He'd almost forgotten what she tasted like – sweet and warm and a touch sinful – and his   
fingers tangled in her hair and brought her closer. Stiles' tongue probed at the seam of   
her mouth and it fell open for it to sweep in and take control, turning her knees to jelly –   
it was a good thing she was sitting.  
  
Instead of escalating, however, the kiss gentled and Stiles' lips almost reverently traced   
hers before he pulled away and lay his forehead flush against Terri's. "God, Terri…" he   
whispered huskily.  
  
She'd wanted him. Damn, but she'd admit it.   
  
But he'd pulled away, like he was afraid to touch her, his blue eyes swirling with desire.   
"Come," he'd extended his hand and, without hesitation, she'd taken it.   
  
What had followed she certainly hadn't been expecting. He'd walked in silence with her   
back to his condo. He'd drawn the water and filled his tub and closed the door behind   
him. Fifteen minutes later, he'd knocked again, averting his eyes as if he'd had some care   
for a degree of her modesty and handed her a cup of chamomile tea. Forty-five minutes   
after that, he'd knocked again and hung a robe on a hook behind the door. He'd not   
disturbed her after that.  
  
Terri had been shocked to say the least.   
  
She was not used to this type of treatment from anyone, far less Stiles, who, she knew,   
was prone to want to forget hard things with hard things, if you catch my drift.  
  
Present:  
  
Now Terri sighed, and swung her feet over the side of the small bed. Amazingly enough,   
she felt far more rested than she'd expected. She ran her hands over the soft cotton of her   
T-shirt – grey and nearly threadbare; yet another relic from Stiles' Marine days. Her   
sweats belonged to him, too. His scent surrounded her and had lulled her to sleep; she   
didn't even have to lift her arm to know that it had permeated her skin.   
  
Deciding that it didn't make much sense to change, Terri simply opened the door and   
padded downstairs into the kitchen. Stiles was at the stove and A.B.2 was next to him at   
the counter on a stool separating lettuce leaves for a salad. A half-smile on her face at the   
two dark-haired males side-by-side preparing a meal, Terri decided to make her presence   
known.  
  
"Need some help?" she asked, stepping fully into the room and heading towards her son.  
  
Seeing she looked a helluva lot better than she had when he'd first brought her there that   
afternoon, Stiles nodded and pointed to a tomato. "Can you cut that for the salad?"  
  
Working quickly together, the three quickly had dinner on the table in the twenty minutes   
that Stiles had promised. Afterwards, Stiles efficiently cleared the table whilst Terri   
whisked their son up the stairs and into a bath before, much to his protest of course,   
settling him into bed.  
  
Stiles was setting the final plate into the dish-drainer, thinking that he definitely needed   
to invest in a dishwasher, when he heard Terri padding down the stairs again. He went to   
the refrigerator and grabbed a beer. "You want one?" he asked, knowing she could hear   
him even if she wasn't in the kitchen.  
  
"No thanks," Terri answered, settling herself on his couch and waiting for him to join her.   
  
Stiles popped the cap and took a deep swig as he headed into the living room. By this   
time, Terri had pulled her knees to her chest and had laid her head on her arms. Her hair   
was once again pulled back into a hasty knot and, after reacquainting himself with what it   
felt like, his fingers ached to reach out and touch it. Inwardly, he grit his teeth and took   
another deep sip of the alcoholic beverage.   
  
For a while, neither said anything, although there was so much that needed to be said.   
With Alex present, it was easy for Terri to look past the embarrassment of that afternoon   
but, since he was more than likely a resident of Dreamland now, it was staring them full   
in the face.   
  
Stiles, too, was thinking of that afternoon. He still relished in the taste of her lips on his   
but he was also fraught with worry about the bigger situation. As a field agent, Terri   
could be an excellent actress; he hoped she wasn't acting in either situation. He decided   
to bite the bullet and speak first.  
  
"Are you truly alright?" he asked Terri, fixing her with his blue-eyed stare.  
  
Terri's eyes flashed up to meet his. Was she truly alright; she wondered. "Physically, I   
feel better than I have since this whole catastrophe. As for my mental state, well, ask me   
that question again at the end of next week and I'll have an answer for you then," she   
replied truthfully.   
  
Stiles grit his teeth and nodded. The famous two week deadline…. He wondered if he'd   
ever be truly alright after that. But his hands were tied. Maybe this was the Fates' way of   
retribution for all his past wrongdoings.   
  
Terri couldn't believe she'd consented to aid him in what was obviously a crime but she   
set – she would do anything to protect her family. She needed to be sure, though.   
Everything she knew about Archer prodded her to seek another explanation. Why would   
the Cell want him dead? Aye, he'd made his desire that the Northern Ireland PM be a   
Protestant, but those were just words, right? Should a man be marked for death simply   
for his words?   
  
It's happened before – Martin Luther King Jr., Mandela…. Somehow, she couldn't   
picture Archer as a martyr. "You've worked with him," she began. "Tell me; what sort of   
man is Martin Archer?"  
  
Stiles' eyes narrowed and he remained silent for a while, carefully sorting his words out.   
"No one seems to know. The political arena and the wider world believe one thing; the   
darker side – like the world of the Sumac Cell – believes another. I know from my   
experience that Martin Archer is a vile sonofabitch, but he's still a human being; he   
doesn't deserve to die…." He trailed off, his mind back on what Jonathan had told him of   
the man. "Still, I want to give John-boy the benefit of the doubt."  
  
Terri's eyes widened. "Are you kidding me?" she asked incredulously. Stiles' silence was   
all the answer she needed. "You're not," she stated, throwing up her hands in disbelief.   
"What is this hold that Jonathan O'Brien has over you, Stiles? How can this man nearly   
destroy this family and you still want to give him the 'benefit of the doubt'?"  
  
"I don't trust John-boy, but I sure as hell don't trust Martin Archer, either. I know his   
kind, Terri; we both do. The kind of man who hides behind good intentions but is really a   
wolf in sheep's clothing. That's the kind of man Martin Archer is."  
  
Confusion furrowed Terri's brow. "Who told you this? John-boy?" she asked   
sarcastically. "I wouldn't trust that sonofabitch any more than I could throw him."  
  
"I've never trusted Archer, and I sure as hell don't like him. What John-boy told me just   
reinforces my opinion of him."  
  
"And just what did John-boy tell you, huh?" Terri asked, crossing her arms over her chest   
and glaring at him mutinously.  
  
Stiles took a deep breath, wondering if she would believe him when he didn't quite   
believe it either, and launched into what his former friend had made known about the   
man. By the end of his account he watched carefully for Terri's reaction.   
  
"We don't have any proof. Quite frankly, it's the word of a renowned terrorist's over a   
United States diplomat, Stiles. It's a no-brainer who anybody would believe."  
  
"John-boy knows I won't take it as that. We have to find the proof."  
  
"To do what, Stiles?" Terri asked frustrated. "Don't you think if there was any proof – if   
what he's saying is the truth – that someone in the intelligence community wouldn't have   
known about it?"  
  
"They know," Stiles pointed out.  
  
"Someone credible, Stiles! Someone I can believe beyond a shadow of a doubt."  
  
Stiles set his teeth. "The only person who you can believe beyond a shadow of a doubt is   
yourself, Terri. If you don't believe me, then the only recourse we have is for me to   
dispose of Archer myself."  
  
Terri narrowed her eyes. "As opposed to what?"  
  
Stiles' eyes narrowed. "As opposed to getting someone else to do it for us."  
  
Northern Ireland, Prime Minister's office  
  
Gavin Thompson watched John-boy take leave of him and sighed heavily as he sat down   
in his chair, wondering how the lad had gotten so cold.  
  
You know, a niggling voice in his head censored.  
  
Aye, he did.  
  
They were not memories that he relished and he partially blamed himself for the man   
Jonathan O'Brien had become.   
  
Which was exactly why the occurrences of the next fortnight were so important.  
  
He'd be damned if he let that bastard Archer win again!  
  
Bangor, Northern Ireland  
  
She was humming. A mournful Gaelic tune of love gained and lost.  
  
He swallowed as he paused on the threshold. He hoped the same wouldn't hold true for   
them. He'd taken leave of the Prime Minister two hours ago in Belfast and had driven   
like a bat out of hell to Bangor, the little town at the edge of the Northeast coast of the   
Emerald Isle by the North Channel.   
  
John-boy watched her silently.   
  
She wore a cream satin nightgown that molded each generous curve and she stood before   
a full-length mirror as she dragged a brush through her inky tresses.   
  
Och! but she was beautiful, he thought not for the first time. And she was. She descended   
from the Rom (insultingly known as Tinkers today)… successive generations of   
Bohemian blood coupled with Celtic hummed beneath her veins. She was his gypsy girl   
with her ink black tresses and flashing dark eyes, golden skin and red lips, she was….  
  
Her song stuttered and trailed off as she caught sight of him in her mirror.  
  
She was Kit.  
  
Knowing he'd been caught, John-boy fully entered the room, drawing nearer to her, not   
even having to glance down at the small cot at the foot of the bed to know that his children lay sleeping soundly.   
  
Even though so much about his appearance had changed, one thing always remained the   
same – the startling ice-blue of his eyes. Sometimes frosty, or filled with contempt and   
rage, now filled with sadness and weariness. She would recognize them anywhere.  
  
Compassion and love and a hint of anger filled Kit's as she turned to face the man.   
  
John-boy drew a deep breath before gathering her fiercely into his arms. "Och, lass! I   
need t'be absolved."  
  
Stiles' Apartment, Virginia  
  
Terri pinched between her brows, feeling a headache threatening to come one; those few   
hours of rest she'd gotten now seemed to have been in vain. "I'm not hearing this," Terri   
covered her ears in a move that vaguely reminded Stiles of Alex and leapt off the couch   
away from him. "It's bad enough that we were even thinking of going through with this   
but, just when I thought you'd discovered one thread of common sense in that thick skull   
of yours, you go and completely ruin in by saying something like that. A-a-and just what   
is that supposed to mean? It better not be what I think it means. Tell me, Stiles. Tell me   
you mean you're going to tell someone else about this and let justice take its course."  
  
"Damn it, Terri, do you hear yourself? You're talking like a civvie instead of a CIA   
Agent! There is no such thing as justice! Unless you count a bullet and a gun. You seem   
prone to point it out to me countless times, so let me return the favour – Archer is a   
freakin' diplomat! No one credible," he spat, "is going to believe us! Who in their right   
mind would? Oh, that's right, no one! We don't have the luxury of hoping someone does   
because we'll be dead if we so much as hesitate to take a piss!" he continued crassly. He   
was tempted to break something, so he did, hurling his beer bottle at the wall, brown   
glass and ice cold lager spraying all over the place, splashing on his hardwood floors, the   
rug and on his clothes and even in Terri's hair.  
  
Terri flinched. It was the tiniest move that had the biggest impact on Stiles. "Jesus,   
Terri," he said softly, swallowing a lump of emotion the size of a duck egg that suddenly   
found its way into his throat. "I'm sorry."  
  
Terri took a deep breath, her brown eyes finding his. "No, I'm sorry." She picked her way   
carefully through the bits of broken glass to stand before him. "You're right. I'm acting   
like a mother –"  
  
"You are a mother, Terri," Stiles pointed out.  
  
"That's not quite what I meant. We can't afford to let our emotions hinder us, Stiles. We   
can't." In a move that would still shock Stiles in many years to come, Terri stepped   
closer and wrapped her arms about his waist and hugged him to her. He released a breath   
he didn't even realize he'd been holding and his fingers got their wish and tangled in her   
wavy chestnut hair.  
  
They stayed that way for a few precious seconds before Terri stepped back. "I trust you,   
Stiles," she said softly. "Tell me your plan."  
  
TBC…  
  
A/N: I know, short, especially after keeping you waiting for so long, but hopefully you'll   
think of it as quality over quantity. I hope you enjoyed. Don't forget to drop me a line or   
two just to let me know what you thought. 


	23. Chapter 23

Show: The Agency

Title: The American Family – Chapter 23

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

Rating: PG-13 for language and sensuality

PLEASE READ AUTHOR'S NOTE (A/N)!

A/N: Life has been a bit difficult to say the least in the past couple of months. The chapter was delayed due to summer vacation, getting shipped off to my Dad's minus the disk with what was written so far. Then on returning home, the computer was very uncooperative (I'm trying not to use any expletives) and I couldn't even send emails far less a work in progress to my beta to help clean up. As if things couldn't get any worse, Ivan the Terrible hit the island and we'd been without electricity, water and telephones for two days. Things are a little better now and I've finally finished. Better late than never, I always say.

Thanks for last chapter's comments; I really appreciated each one. I've been doing some research and I've learnt that The Republic of Ireland was actually a semi-independent state (The Irish Free State), whilst pro-Protestant Northern Ireland is under the 'rule' of a 12-member Protestant-Catholic 'coalition' of sorts which represents their interests in the Westminster Government of Great Britain. Most of the history you will read is true (I hope it won't bore you; it's pretty interesting and explains a lot about the dissension between the people) but I've also taken liberal artistic license as well (you should be able to spot the differences). Simply imagine therefore that, in addition to coming to true peace, Northern Ireland gained its independence from England as did all the other countries that made up the British Isles: Scotland and Wales.

This chapter will have no Stiles and Terri and a whole lot of Jonathan O'Brien. The reason this is so is because we got a few hints in last chapter and a few previous chapters that everything is not as it seems, and a whole lot of things have happened to make John-boy the sort of man he is today. I know that this in no way excuses what he and Michael did to Terri and what they want Stiles to do, but I hope it aids in the complexity of the character and really makes you understand why I pleaded for a more objective outlook of him. I hope you enjoy and drop me a line or two to let me know what you thought.

Bangor, Northern Ireland

John-boy gazed lovingly at the sleeping children. Niall, the elder at four years old, had wavy ginger hair, much like his father's original hair colour, a button nose ablaze with cinnamon freckles and bright blue eyes. His sister Gwen, younger by a mere two minutes, was more like her mother in terms of colouring but she had her father's bright blue eyes as well. The two slept innocently in their bed, oblivious to the turmoil that surrounded them simply because of whom their father was. He ran a callused finger along his daughter's nose, smiling slightly when she wriggled it in her sleep.

He felt Kit's touch on his arm as she firmly guided him from the room and down the hall into the small living area of the tiny cottage. She switched on a lamp, bathing them in a warm glow as she tucked her housecoat securely around her body and wrapped her arms protectively about herself.

John-boy recognized the act immediately, his heart yearning. "Hallo, lass," he said softly, holding his arms out to her.

Anger immediately ignited in Kit's onyx coloured eyes. "So, _now_ ye decide t'greet me properly?" she asked bitterly. Her accent was strange, a nuance of Irish and Hungarian, carefully modulated into a husky tone. " '_Hallo lass_'?" she echoed sarcastically.

John-boy stepped forward, reaching to touch her. "_No_, doona touch me... _don't_!" she hissed, mentally cursing herself as her voice cracked on the last command.

John-boy swallowed heavily but did as she asked. "I know I hurt ye –"

"Ye have no idea, Jonathan O'Brien," she broke in, her eyes broadcasting just how deeply he had.

He had been prepared for the anger – Kit always lashed out first, asked questions later. He'd not been prepared for the hurt – she'd always been good at hiding that particular emotional weakness. He couldn't deal with the knowledge that he'd yet again hurt someone he loved. "I'm sorry," he said softly.

"Ye're _always _sorry," Kit pointed out.

John-boy could feel her words cut him almost to the quick but he knew he'd in no way experienced the brunt of Kit's temper.

"What are ye doin' here?" she asked softly. John-boy turned beseeching blue eyes on her and she had to mentally steel herself against the emotions swirling in their depths, struggling against the urge to pull him into her arms; she _had _to remember that he more than deserved her anger.

"I needed t'see my family," John-boy whispered.

"Ye have no' seen us in eighteen months, John-boy, so why now?" Kit asked bitterly, praising herself that there was no visible sign of the tears that were burning her nose and threatening to fall. "Why are ye here?" she demanded again. Kit turned away, unable to look at him anymore.

John-boy dragged his fingers through already ruffled platinum tresses and turned troubled blue eyes on her back, feasting for a few precious seconds on the figure she cut. He stepped forward, hearing her sharp intake of breath as he invaded her personal space and set warm hands on her shoulders. "I need ye, Kit," he whispered softly, against the shell of her ear.

She shuddered involuntarily, feeling her anger seeping away at the touch of his hands and the despair in his voice.

"I need ye t'help make sense o' this worl'." His hands drifted down, peeling the wrapper from her shoulders. She started when she felt cool wetness on her bare shoulders. John-boy turned her around to face him and Kit bit her lip as she watched silent tears stream down his handsome face. "Tell me why I'm doin' this again. Tell me I'm no' a monster."

At the sight of him, her anger evaporated. It was replaced with her love for this man, tinged with heartbreak for the demons he harboured within. "Ye're no' a monster, John..." she conceded softly.

John-boy sank to his knees, as though all his strength was drained. "I feel so –"he broke off. Even to Kit he couldn't reveal how disgusted he felt. He'd believed he was justified in his actions but the despair in both Michael's and Stiles' voices kept reverberating in his mind, leaving him no peace.

Kit tunneled her fingers through his hair, hating the platinum colour and the stiffness of the gel, wishing instead for the soft ginger that had drawn him to her the first time she'd ever seen him. John-boy, wrapped his arms around her waist and hugged her fiercely, his tears wetting the satin of her nightgown. "Ye're _not_ a monster..." she whispered fiercely again.

And so she held him through his quiet tears until he drew deep shuddering breaths and made to stand up. Once on his feet, he gently stroked the side of her cheek. "I truly am sorry, Kit," he said softly.

Kit looked away, wishing for the justifiable anger to resurface, but John-boy gripped her chin and gently forced her to look at him. "I know," she finally conceded in reply.

John-boy stepped away and dragged a heavy hand over his weary face, wiping away the evidence of his tears.

Still wanting to protect herself physically from the spell John-boy could weave on her body, Kit picked up her housecoat from where it had fallen on the floor and she shrugged into it and stepped back, furthering the distance between them.

Yet again her actions were not lost on John-boy, who knew he was not completely back in Kit's good books as yet.

"I take it tha' everythin' is no' goin' accordin' t'plan," Kit began. She too was a member of the Cell, though she'd put herself on 'sabbatical' as such when she'd become pregnant.

"Actually it is," John-boy replied.

Kit's eyebrows lifted. If so, then why was he acting this way? He'd not divulged the details to her, but she definitely knew something was up and as his 'woman' and a fellow officer in the Cell, she felt she had a right to know what was going on. "John..." she began, not sure why she couldn't seem to broach the subject. This had never happened before; she'd always been able to speak her mind.

"Can we no' talk about this t'night, Kit?" he asked softly, once again shortening the distance between them.

Kit swallowed convulsively. After being without him for over a year, her senses were on overdrive at the thought of being close to him again.

"I just want t'..." he trailed off and lifted a strand of dark hair, lifting it to his nose. He dropped his hands to her shoulders; her skin was warm beneath the satin. Kit's eyes fluttered close as John-boy's head dipped to kiss her.

At the first touch of his lips on hers, Kit moaned inwardly. _It has been so long, _she was thinking. The kiss was a lot gentler than she'd expected. He wooed her mouth, gently persuasive as his tongue probed the seam of her mouth asking for permission to enter the honey depths within. In a sigh that was half defeat-half acceptance, Kit opened her mouth beneath his and allowed him to take charge.

John-boy trailed soft wet kisses down the length of her jaw, along her throat, taking her housecoat with him as his hands slid down her shoulders. "Let me love ye, Kit... please."

It was the 'please' that caused her the most concern. John-boy had never asked her to give of herself. She'd always come willingly or he'd simply taken what he wanted; she'd never before denied him.

Until now.

"No." Kit stepped away, breathing shakily as she tried to get her emotions under control. John-boy's eyes were filled with confusion. He opened his mouth to ask but she shook her head, cutting him off from continuing. "I canna... not now." She took a deep breath and for the third time again that night, tightened her housecoat around her. There was too much to be discussed. She would forget all sense of purpose if she allowed him to have his way. She indicated the couch, "Ye can have th' couch, t'night. I'll get ye some blankets."

Without another word, she whirled around and headed back to her bedroom. A few minutes later, she returned with a comforter and the extra pillow from her bed. John-boy didn't bother to protest; he knew it would do no good. He watched her as she efficiently laid the sheets out and plumped his pillow for him. Kit cleared her throat. "G'night, John."

John-boy watched her back as she once again retreated to the safety of her room – what should have been _their _room. The sound and the meaning of her turning the lock on the door was the most obvious of messages as she left him alone to the darkness and his dreams.

Kit shut the door and locked it behind her, leaning heavily against the oak frame as she tried to school her thoughts and emotions into some semblance of order. It was still difficult to grasp the fact that he was there – after eighteen months of lying low. Seven months ago, she was told that he'd 'ordered' them moved to this cottage in the tiny town on the Northeastern coast of the island. She'd been furious then that, even in absentia, he still dictated her life and the lives of their children. But, she knew better than to argue – it was a fact of the life that they lived. And, simply for being his family, they skated on very thin ice.

Now he was back.

And in a state that she'd never seen him in.

_Never_.

Swallowing heavily, Kit listened intently to the sounds of the quiet cottage. If she listened beyond the deep breath of the twins, she could hear him moving about in her tiny living room. She heard the heavy sound of dipping springs and surmised that he must have at least sat down. Soon he would be taking off that thin black turtleneck baring his –

Kit angrily shook those thoughts out of her head and instead tried to focus on her anger. It was no secret that she loved him dearly, but he'd hurt her and their children immensely. How dare he think that, simply because he was obviously hurting, he could just waltz back into their lives and that everything would be all right? That he could just touch her and all the unspoken issues between them would simply melt away?

He was seriously mistaken if he thought so!

Kit felt slightly better knowing that she could remain angry.

Of course she ignored the fact that this was infinitely easier when he was not looking at her with those beseeching blue eyes or touching her with those long slender fingers with their callused tips....

She took a deep calming breath and stepped away from the door. Quietly, she knelt by the cot and gazed at her children. Her son, Niall, never ceased to amaze her. He looked so much like his father that at times, before John-boy had returned, it almost ached to look at him. His wavy ginger hair flopped into his face, almost covering his eyes and his nose seemed to be a miniature version of his father's – in time to come, it would take on the same long aristocratic form (that had existed pre-plastic surgery, of course). Gwen resembled her not only in colouring but in temperament as well – och, but that lass could throw a tantrum! Her bright blue eyes were all her father's however. No one could doubt that these were Jonathan O'Brien's children.

She kissed them both softly before climbing up into her own bed and gathering the sheets about her. She prayed fervently to the deities – Rom, Celt and Christian – that she would have the strength to face him come morning.

John-boy took the opportunity to survey the small cottage. He'd ordered one of his Lieutenants to purchase the property and to move his family there after Gavin had sent him to America. He'd not trusted them to stay in Dublin and sure as hell not in Belfast; he would have preferred them to leave the island altogether, but he knew Kit would have hit the roof even harder than he'd imagined she had when informed of his actions.

The house was small, with less than half a dozen rooms – bedroom, bathroom, a small kitchen and the living room – there was a small garden in the back and an even smaller shed. It was off the beaten path even for this small town, outside the actual center by a good mile.

But it wasn't just the privacy that had driven him to purchase the property. The house stood at the crest of a small hill, beyond which were sheer cliffs that fell into the North Channel leading into the Irish Sea. On the clearest of days, the craggy coast of Southwest Scotland could be seen in the distance. Kit adored the ocean – he'd purchased the house on that particular spot in an effort to butter her up in a sense.

Even now, he could hear the waves crashing against the rocky cliffs and smell the brine in the air. He looked around the small room – it was cozy, as was her bedroom. He imagined he would only have to step into the house's other two rooms to know they reflected the same sense of style. Kit had made a home here and for that he was glad.

John-boy groaned inwardly as he thought about her. Och, but he had made a mess of things! If he never saw that look on her face again, it would be too soon. Oh, how he burned for her. Simply being in the same room as her had muddled his thoughts. Knowing she was a mere ten feet away, clothed in that slick satin nightgown that left nothing to his already vivid imagination was enough to set his blood to boiling.

His groan this time was audible. Consigned to his fate, _at least for the night_ he thought hopefully, he quietly left the cottage and walked quickly to his car, which he had parked in a small parcel of trees, and removed his small duffel. Once back inside, he quietly locked up again and, force of habit, he went through the other two rooms, checking that all the windows and doors were double-bolted. Once satisfied, he returned to his modest pallet and stripped down to his boxers before pulling on a white T-shirt.

He lay back in the couch, immediately feeling a spring digging into the center of his back. He shifted to his side and another poked him in his ribs. He shifted to his other side, blissful comfort. It was late and he was admittedly weary. He closed his eyes and fell asleep to the sound of the waves crashing against the cliffs, hoping fervently his nightmares left him alone.

_After the rule of the Norsemen over the Celtic Kingdom of Ireland and maintenance of Christianity after its introduction by St. Patrick in the 5th century, the reform movement of the church in the 11th and 12th century turned its eyes to Ireland. This task was given over to King Henry II of England, who was granted the island by Pope Adrian IV on condition that he bring order to the Irish church and by extension, the state. _

_The English arrived in Ireland in 1171, placing the island in a state of subordination. For almost five hundred years, the Ulster chieftains, kings in their own rights, challenged English rule. In the 17th century, the winds of change blew across the Emerald Isle. In 1607, the chieftains fled Ulster forever, marking the true end of the Celtic Kingdom. England branded them guilty of treason and their vast estates were confiscated and turned over to colonists to form 'plantations'. With the arrival of English and Scottish immigrants to the Ulster region of the island, came the upheaval of old traditions and the establishment of a new Protestant majority in an area of a country that was previously entirely Roman Catholic. _

_The first general uprising began in 1641, where thousands of colonists were murdered or forced to flee. However, the Irish Confederate Armies were no match for the English forces, led by Oliver Cromwell (who himself had led a rebellion in England, seizing the kingdom from the Royal Family) and by 1652, Irish Resistance was crushed, the land remaining in the hands of the Protestants._

_By the nineteenth century, the Southern Irish were lobbying for Home Rule, but the Ulster 'Unionists', many of who had closer ties with the British than their own Irish brothers, clung tenaciously to the union with England. Rebellion took place as far as the United States and even in England in the 1860's by exiled Irish Men who formed the Fenian revolution movement. Dissension was high – the Ulster men loyal to Britain formed the Ulster Volunteer Force in 1912 to resist home rule, a move countered by the formation of the Irish Volunteers in 1913._

_On Easter Monday 1916, the Irish Volunteers led an uprising, which was quickly and violently quelled by the British, who then proceeded to execute more than a dozen of their leaders. Public outrage led to victory in the 1918 elections for the Sinn Fein party, lead by a survivor of the Irish Uprising, Eamon de Valera, who set up a provisional Irish government and parliament called the Dáil Éireann. The Irish Republican Army (IRA) was established to support the claims of the self-proclaimed free state._

_The IRA launched a reign of guerrilla attacks, finally forcing the British Government to initiate negotiations for political settlement. In 1920, six of the nine predominantly Protestant counties of the Ulster region were designated as Northern Ireland, which remained under the diction of the United Kingdom, although the rest of the island established the semi-independent Irish Free State. The six were: Londonderry and Antrim, in the north; Tyrone, in the center; and Fermanagh, Armagh, and Down, in the south (the other three being Donegal, Cavan, and Monaghan). So began a life of uneasy cohabitation – the Southern Irish almost brought on civil war by demanding Fermanagh and Tyrone counties as well as several border towns; the dispute was settled in 1925 in favour of the Northerners. _

_The Irish Free State was to be a sovereign nation within the British Commonwealth, much to the outrage of many people. Conflicts caused two factions of the IRA to be pitted against each other. In the end Michael Collins, a founding member of the IRA, was assassinated by his own army. The turmoil became so much that the IRA was declared illegal in 1931 and any members caught were to be imprisoned, without trial. Outraged, the IRA organized a series of bombings in England before five of their leaders were captured and executed by the Irish Free State, the very state they'd sworn to protect. In 1948, the Irish Free State withdrew from the British Commonwealth and formed a Republic. The IRA then turned its eyes to the unification of Northern Ireland with this new nation._

_By the late 1960's the province was being rocked by terrorism waged between Irish brothers – Catholic Republicans who sought unification with the Republic of Ireland and Protestant Unionists who wished to remain under British rule. In an effort to retain order, the British assumed direct rule in 1972 and maintained a military presence in the area, but the rebel factions, especially the IRA constantly made their displeasure known. Yet another split occurred within the IRA ranks, this time over how much violence to use. The official IRA maintained its wish for the unification of Northern Ireland and the Republic – Catholics and Protestants – in a socialist republic, through the use of peaceful means. The splinter group, formed in 1969, was called the Provisional IRA or the Provos, whose tactics included bombings and assassinations during the 1970's (including the 1979 assassination of Naval official Louis Mountbatten, a member of the British Royal Family) as well as staged protests and hunger strikes (including the 1981 hunger strikes that resulted in ten deaths), none of which had satisfactory results._

_It was especially during this time that other pro-Catholic and pro-Protestant rebel groups emerged. Many people believed that the larger rebel groups – the IRA; The Orange Brigade; Protestant Ulster Defense Association; the Ulster Volunteer Force – had lost touch with the will of the people. Indeed, many innocent civilians were caught in the crossfire. Both Catholics and Protestants became victims despite which rebel group took responsibility for an attack._

_Such was the fate of young Niall Silas O'Brien. He wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed education-wise, having dropped out in his fifth year at secondary school, but he worked hard and tried, for the most part, to keep his nose clean and out of trouble. From the age of sixteen, he'd worked in a pub in the center of Dublin, bussing tables first then working behind the bar for the very cranky but fair Richard Ronin Stiles. He was the first-born of his family and he had to work to ensure there was enough to put food on the table and keep a roof over their heads since their mother had forbidden them to go across the sea to England to work the mines or to break their backs in the potato fields. Even if he'd had greater aspirations, he knew they could never bear fruit – it was his responsibility to take care of his family, especially since their drunken and broken father was not much of a help._

_Like most persons in Ireland, he knew all the tales of the history of the Emerald Isle and of the struggle the Northern Irish Catholics waged for independence. He wished the best of luck for his Irish brothers but he had the good sense to know they all had a long and bloody battle ahead of them. Many young men his age shared the same opinions – they despised the harsh treatment of the Catholics in Ulster and the domination of the British. Some of them took their hatred a step forward, their impressionable minds molded by the silvered tongues of the rebels to the point at which many of them left the relative safety of Dublin to fight in the 'war' in Belfast._

_Niall and his brother watched these men consign themselves to the fate of being branded terrorists, enemies of the Irish Republic and the British Crown, doomed to the fate of imprisonment without trial or even execution. Niall lamented the sheer lunacy. His brother John-boy, silently and then not so silently, egged them on. Niall recognized the darkness in his young brother and prayed for a reprieve. _

_It came as a blessing in disguise in July 1984 in the form of a tall dark-haired fifteen-year-old American boy with a serious attitude problem and an even filthier mouth. John-boy had been away, spending some of his summer vacation with his mother and her family in Drogheda, north of Dublin. He'd returned a month later in August and much to Niall's dislike, the two became fast friends. For three years, the boys were inseparable, entering into manhood together. He'd not had time enough for his little brother, but he was glad that this "A.B." seemed, in time, to have enough maturity to look after them both. _

_Disaster struck three years later with the arrival of the Marine Lt. Colonel Joshua Stiles in the early summer of 1987. The boys had just completed their A-Levels and were contemplating what to do with their lives after school. It went without saying that young A.B. would be off to university and Niall, who had taken over the role of head of household after their father had gone to the pub one night and never returned, was determined that, even if he had to work his fingers to the bone and forfeit his meals, John-boy would be accorded the same privilege and would truly be able to make something of himself. _

_Colonel Stiles had quite effectively put a stopper into any grand plans he had entertained of John-boy being the first in their family to have a university education. He'd assumed that, with the seeming disinterest of A.B.'s father, the boy would be staying on in Ireland and under the watchful eye of his grandfather would have enrolled in one of the Republic's two universities: the University of Dublin (Trinity College) or the National University of Ireland. His sudden arrival and announcement that he'd applied for and accepted a position for his son to enter the United States Military Academy had quite effectively sent his brother into a downward spiral. A.B. had been furious but there was nothing he could do about it. His eighteenth birthday was in July and having completed the entrance examinations (in an effort to get his grandfather, who was an unwilling co-conspirator, off his back) he didn't have a choice._

_A.B. had been John-boy's saving grace and his immediate departure for basic training had caused any plans for his future to fizzle. Although outwardly his brother tried to maintain a sunny disposition, he'd taken a job in a mechanic's shop instead of enrolling in university. There, without the somewhat staid presence of A.B., Niall watched his brother fall deeply in with the wrong crowd._

_During this time Niall's closet friend Kevin had fallen under the spell of a faction of the Provos. Much to his friend's dismay, he crossed the border (both literally and figuratively) heading into Belfast and headlong into the struggle for unification. Niall had always prided himself on being a levelheaded individual, unlike his younger brother, content to let each man decide his own fate. His usual mantra when such a thing happened was: _"If th' man wants t'go ahead an' kill 'imself, let 'im do it." _This concept of _'To each his own' _flew the coop when he realized what his friend had done._

_It was a time for revelation. _

_This was no simple defection of a _friend_... not even a _best_ friend. No. Niall would sooner have cut off his own arm than admit his dismay stemmed from the fact that he'd lost a lover. _

_Imagine that._

_No one knew of their secret and, to maintain their already precarious grasp on their lives, no one ever would. But, desperate to drill some sense into the man he loved, Niall too left Ireland under the guise of bringing him home. _

_He never made it back._

_The two had been arguing furiously in an alley, and were being eavesdropped on by a few drunken members of the Orange Brigade. Upon discovering not only were the two men _Catholic_ but _homosexual_, they'd ambushed the couple and, after beating them within inches of their lives, slit their throats and left them in the alley to rot._

_Their murderers were never found._

_When news of the murder reached John-boy, the transformation was complete and he was truly never the same again._

_As the head of the household, it had been his duty to hold it together for them all._

_He hadn't. _

_When his father had abandoned them, his mother had fallen into a state of depression. There was no raising of her spirits although she was much better off without the bum. Niall had tried though and it had seemed to be working. With him gone as well this was sure to kill her._

_But instead of staying, which any caring responsible son would have done, which _Niall_ would have done, he'd hot-footed it out of Dublin the night after the police had called with the news._

_Nothing could have prepared him for the sight of his brother, lying so cold and stiff on the metal slab at the county morgue. He was unrecognizable, his face a mangled pulp – the bastards had really put their backs into it. _

_It had been a closed-casket funeral. _

_He hid in the shadows and watched from the rafters of their old church._

_He hadn't shed a tear, although Fiona and his mother Maude had shed enough to overflow the Liffey, had shed enough to make up for the fact that he was nowhere in sight._

_Perhaps Maude had known he was there. Looking back on it, at the end of the service as she and Fiona had leaned on one another as they walked down the aisle, she had lifted her head and held his gaze. He was so far in the shadows, she probably couldn't see him, but he definitely saw _her_. It was the last time he saw her alive. _

_For days after the funeral, John-boy drifted about aimlessly, consumed by grief and anger and a debilitating thirst for revenge. He didn't know who had been personally responsible for his brother's death, but his hatred towards all Protestants had been festering for as long as he could remember and this was the perfect excuse for him to finally act out. _

_It started out innocent enough – young impressionable angry Catholic men, emboldened by far too many pints of Guinness and bravado. The planning had been purely accidental or at the very least theoretical but, at the end of the night, three men, none over the age of twenty, had unwittingly set out on an undertaking that would change the rest of their lives..._

John-boy always woke up at that point. The dream, more a rehashing ofIrish history, was not a stranger to him. This dream had followed him for more years than he'd care to remember, brought more baggage than he could handle. He always forced himself awake because, quite frankly, remembering all the horror that he'd witnessed and the atrocities he himself had committed, frightened him.

But he couldn't escape, especially now since he had cruelly manipulated the only person who had truly been his friend, into committing an act of treason. No matter how many times he tried to convince himself that he would do whatever he had to for Northern Ireland, his conscience would not let him rest.

He would keep on having these dreams.

He would keep on seeing the disappointment on the faces of Kit and their children because they could never be a real family.

He would keep on seeing the grief in Michael's eyes because Fiona was gone forever and revenge wouldn't be able to bring her back.

He would keep seeing that look of horror on Stiles' faces when he told him what he would have to do for Terri and Alex to keep on breathing.

He would keep on seeing that cool, calculating look of assessment on Gavin's face as his superior tried to determine if all the emotional baggage that he carried was eating him away to the point where he'd become a ruthless bastard teetering on the edge of insanity.

All because he'd let that bastard Archer get to him....

John-boy sat up and wiped the fatigue from his face. He was restless and weary and the night was definitely _not _going the way he had planned it. Resolved to yet another night of sleeplessness, he got up from the couch and headed into the kitchen. Switching on the light, he opened the refrigerator and stared at the frugal contents for what seemed like hours before finally grabbing a bottle of Carlsberg and snapping the top off.

"Jaysus!" he exclaimed, when he turned around, bottle halfway to his lips, to see Kit leaning against the doorframe.

She smiled lightly. "I'm takin' pity on ye," Kit said softly. "I kinda figured ye'd have a rough night at it."

John-boy shrugged and his smile was rueful. "I'm alright."

"So, ye're just thirsty?" she asked lightly.

He looked away and took another swing of beer. "No. But I'll be fine, Kit." It came out more forceful than he'd intended and he was relieved when she didn't seem offended.

"Okay."

Their eyes met and held and John-boy brought the bottle to his lips once more in an effort to do anything but stare at her beauty.

"I don't mean t'be so hard on ye, John," she said after a pregnant silence.

He nodded. "I know... I understan', Kit. But ye're right. I have no right t' expect things t'be like they were b'fore."

Kit swallowed and looked away. "Things have no' changed _that_ much, John." Her eyes met his again. John-boy put down his beer and gave her the full attention of his blue eyes. "I still love you," she said softly. "But it's _so_ hard.... I never know what's goin' on in tha' head of yers. Ye don't talk t'me... ye insist on dictatin' our lives... ye take an' take an' take an' never give of yerself. An' it _hurts_, John. It hurts tha' ye show up outta th' blue every once in a while when it suits ye memory that ye have a family, an' then ye disappear again without so much as a fare thee well. So, yes, I'm sick of it!" She was breathing deeply, her breasts heaving with every gulp of air she inhaled. "If ye're hurtin' _talk_!"

John-boy's eyes widened and even Kit looked surprised by her words.

John-boy shook his head sadly. "I _can't_...."

Kit nodded sagely, her eyes sad. "Then we have a serious problem, John, because whatever it is that ye're holdin' inside will eat you alive."

TBC...

A/N: Well, what do you think? Have I whetted your appetites as to what horror it is that Archer committed against John-boy to have him hate him so much? I hope so. What do you think of the character of Kit? Don't forget to drop a line and tell me. Sorry for the delay once more.

Cara


	24. Chapter 24

Show: The Agency

Title: The American Family: Chapter 24

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

A/N: Late as usual, but I'm sorry for the delay.

X-X-X-X-X

Stiles' Apartment, Virginia 

Terri pinched between her brows, feeling a headache threatening to come on; those few hours of rest she'd gotten now seemed to have been in vain. "I'm not hearing this," Terri covered her ears in a move that vaguely reminded Stiles of Alex and leapt off the couch away from him. "It's bad enough that we were even _thinking_ of going through with this but, just when I thought you'd discovered one thread of common sense in that thick skull of yours, you go and completely ruin it by saying something like that. A-a-and just what is that supposed to mean? It _better_ not be what I think it means. Tell me, Stiles. Tell me you mean you're going to tell someone else about this and let justice take its course."

"Damn it, Terri, do you _hear_ yourself? You're talking like a civvie instead of a CIA Agent! There is no such thing as justice! Unless you count a bullet and a gun. You seem prone to point it out to me countless times, so let me return the favour – Archer is a freakin' _diplomat_! No one _credible_," he spat, "is going to believe us! Who in their right mind would? Oh, that's right, _no one_! We don't have the luxury of hoping someone _does_ because we'll be dead if we so much as hesitate to take a piss!" he continued crassly. He was tempted to break something, so he did, hurling his beer bottle at the wall, brown glass and ice cold lager spraying all over the place, splashing on his hardwood floors, the rug and on his clothes and even in Terri's hair.

Terri flinched. It was the tiniest move that had the biggest impact on Stiles. "_Jesus_, Terri," he said softly, swallowing a lump of emotion the size of a duck egg that suddenly found its way into his throat. "I'm sorry."

Terri took a deep breath, her brown eyes finding his. "No, _I'm_ sorry." She picked her way carefully through the bits of broken glass to stand before him. "You're right. I'm acting like a mother –"

"You _are_ a mother, Terri," Stiles pointed out.

"That's not quite what I meant. We can't afford to let our emotions hinder us, Stiles. We _can't_." In a move that would still shock Stiles in many years to come, Terri stepped closer and wrapped her arms about his waist and hugged him to her. He released a breath he didn't even realize he'd been holding and his fingers got their wish and tangled in her wavy chestnut hair.

They stayed that way for a few precious seconds before Terri stepped back. "I trust you, Stiles," she said softly. "Tell me your plan."

Stiles grimaced and stepped away. "I haven't actually worked out the details yet –"

Terri resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "So basically, you _don't_ have a plan," she deduced.

"_Yet_," Stiles replied.

Terri wiped the fatigue from her face and sighed. "Is there any way of confirming what John-boy told you about Martin Archer?"

Stiles turned to her, curiosity mirrored in his blue eyes. "What good would _that _do?"

"I dunno," Terri replied, shaking her head. "Maybe I'm hoping we could leak the Intel…." After a pregnant pause, she met Stiles' eyes and said what was truly on her mind. "I'm trying to placate my conscience, Stiles, because if we don't come up with a plan fast, his assassination is the only option we've got if we want to keep our son alive."

X-X-X-X-X

Bangor, Ireland 

For a long while, the only sound in the small kitchen was of their breathing. John-boy set his bottle on the counter and stared at the mother of his children.

"It's already started, hasn't it?" Kit asked knowingly.

Yes, John-boy nodded.

"Talk t'me, _please_," she pleaded.

"Okay," he finally whispered in concession.

Kit held her hand out for him and he took it and allowed her to lead him back into the living room. They sat together and John-boy did not let go of her hand as he started at the beginning and told her everything of his mission since he'd been ordered to America to seek out a way to destroy Martin Archer.

At the end of his story even Kit's understanding was tried. "What ye did was wrong."

Surprised blue eyes met hers, but Kit did not allow him to pull away when he tried. "No, John, it _was_."

"I though ye weren't gonna judge, Kit."

"I'm not, John. I would never do that. But tha' does no' mean tha' I don't think what ye did was wrong. Because it was."

John-boy looked away and Kit knew she'd only verbally confirmed what he believed in his heart.

"It's too late now, Kit. Everythin's in place."

Kit's grip on his hands tightened. "It's _never_ too late, John. Remember? _You _taught me that."

"I _can't _change what I've started, Kit!"

"Yes, you can!" Kit's black eyes were blazing. "Ye have t'!"

"I can't!" he whispered fiercely again.

"You can an' you will!" she clasped his hand to her heart. "We'll do it t'gether."

Kit's words instilled such hope in John it blazed incandescently in his eyes. His other hand stroked the curve of her cheek and she leaned into his caress. "How can ye love me, Kit?" he asked her softly.

Kit's eyelashes dipped so they covered her eyes. "I doona know why… I just _do_." Her lashes lifted again so she met his eyes again.

John-boy's hand shifted from her cheek to the back of her head. Tangling his fingers in her silky black hair, he started to tug her forward, presumably to kiss her. Kit resisted his gentle pull. "Go t' sleep, John."

His hand shifted from her hair, back to her cheek, his thumb gently trailing across the fullness of her lower lip. But he pulled away and allowed her to stand. "I'll see ye in th' morn."

X-X-X-X-X

Stiles' Apartment 

She would do it, he mused.

It was after midnight and the apartment was quiet as a church. Ten minutes ago, Terri had climbed the stairs and went to bed with their son. The sound of her closing the door had all but echoed in the apartment.

Stiles was tired, but too wired to sleep. He went to the kitchen and returned with a Swiffer mop, where he cleaned up the broken sodden mess of the beer bottle on his hardwood floor.

After cleaning up, he was at a loss as to what to do. He didn't even bother with television, although at this time Leno or Letterman was bound to be funny. When a frustrated Terri wandered down the stairs twenty minutes later, she found Stiles doing pushups on his living room floor.

"What on Earth are you doing?" she asked.

"Can't sleep," he said simply, dipping into another pushup.

"Some people use warm milk."

"I won't even justify that with an answer considering that I'm lactose intolerant," Stiles replied, climbing to his feet.

Terri chuckled, a sound that stuttered and died when she realized that he was half-naked. And sweaty… and looking so deliciously yummy that her stomach started doing flip-flops. "You're not lactose intolerant Stiles," she found herself stumbling over the words as her gaze pinpointed on a narrow bead of sweat that slid between his pecs and down the ripped ridge that separated his six-pack. "I've seen you eat ice-cream before," she finished lamely as her eyes flew back up to his face. He said nothing, but Terri could feel the heat spreading across her cheeks.

So many thoughts leaped into his head at that moment. Words that would make that blush deepen sprang to his tongue. He thought of what those words could lead to… and, for that precise reason, the remote possibility of how their night could end, he picked up his shirt and put it back on.

"I'm tired now," he said, mentally kicking himself at his stupidity. "The milk's in the fridge."

The blush did deepen and it was coupled with a small frown that marred the smoothness of her brow when she realized what Stiles had done. "You've really changed," she said, turning to watch him walk back up the stairs.

He paused and looked down at her as she made her way to stand at the foot of the stairs. "I haven't changed _that_ much, Terri. Right now, I want you so bad it hurts… and I'm kicking myself for not leaping at the opportunity to make love to you… but now is not the time or the place," his voice was a silky whisper that shivered down her spine.

For some reason, which escaped her mind at the moment, Terri took the first step, then the next and the next until she was standing right beside him on the step right below the landing, ten feet away from the room where their son was sleeping.

He could have walked away; _should _have walked away. The gentleman in him screamed at him to _run _away but he seemed rooted where he stood.

"There is never a _right_ time for the two of us." She was millimeters away from his lips.

"I'm so weak…."

It was the last thing he said before he closed that tiny gap and fused his mouth to hers.

X-X-X-X-X

Bangor, Ireland 

"What did ye do t'me 'usband?"

"Kathleen?" came the groggy voice on the other line.

"Yes."

"Good Lord, girl, 'tis five o'clock in th' flamin' mornin'. Could ye no' 'ave waited 'til a decent hour, love?"

"I've waited long enough, da, an' doona tell me tha' ye were no' expectin' this call the momen' I foun' out he was back in Irelan'."

Back in Belfast, Gavin Thompson sat upright in bed and looked at his bed partner. Maureen, his wife and Kit's long-suffering stepmother, still slept on.

"Well?" came his daughter's impatient voice.

"What did 'e tell ye?" he asked, heaving a sigh.

"Everythin'… an' whose bright idea was it in th' firs' place, eh, da?" she hissed in question.

"Ye don' even have t'ask in order t'know the answer t' that question, love. I tell him what needs t'be done, not _how _it needs t'be done."

Kit had dragged the extension with her in the bathroom and she sat arguing with her father on the toilet. "'e's a blinkin' shadow o' himself, da. 'e thinks he's a _monster._ He's _contrite _for fuck's sake, da!"

"Watch yer mouth, Kathleen," came her father's stern admonishment.

"Doona tell me t' watch me flamin' mouth, da. Ye've got a lotta bloody explainin' t'do an' then, ye're gonna tell me 'usband t'forget about 'is gran' plan an' fin' another way t' get rid of Archer!"

Without waiting for his reply, she slammed the receiver down and chucked the phone off her lap just as the knock sounded on the door.

Back in bed in Belfast, Gavin set his receiver on the hook more gently than his daughter had and sighed. "God cursed me th' day he gave me a flamin' gypsy for a daughter."

"What?" Kit yelled, as the knocks got louder.

"Open th' door, Kit."

"Shove off, John, I'm on th' blinkin' toilet!" she turned the residuals of her anger on her husband.

"Lass, yer caterwaulin' is what woke me. Ye always yell and talk t' yerself while in th' loo?" he asked jokingly.

Kit's eyes narrowed and she yanked the bathroom door open. "I'm not in th' mood f' jokin', Jonathan O'Brien," she all but hissed.

John-boy's breath left his body in a startled whoosh as she shoved the telephone into his stomach and breezed past him. "Good morrow t' you, too, lass," he wheezed in greeting.

"I'm sorry I woke ye. I had t'give someone a piece of my mind," she said from the kitchen, as she set the kettle on the stove.

"Would that 'someone' happen t'be the leader of this fine land?" he asked knowingly, following her.

Kit cut her eyes at him, but said nothing.

John-boy looked at his wife intently. "I don't want you interferin', Kit. This is dangerous business."

Kit took a deep breath and turned to him. "No, John, what's 'dangerous' is you allowin' yer emotions t'cloud yer judgment, t'make decisions for you. For you t'even _think _about dragging _Michael_ into this whole mess, _that's _dangerous."

"I'm tired of explainin', Kit-"

"That's because ye've be'n doin' such a piss poor job of it!" she interrupted. "Ye think ye're a monster, now? Ye'll be the flamin' Anti-Christ if you go through with this plan!"

He said nothing, simply turned his back and started to walk away. "Don't you walk away from me!" Kit ordered, reaching out for his arm and wrenching him around to face her. "I doona understand ye! Ye ask fer my opinion an' ignore it when I give t'ye! If ye didn't want t'hear what I had t'say, then ye shouldn't 'ave asked, ye should've stayed the bloody hell away! It would 'ave be'n easier than 'avin' t'deal wi' this _shadow_ of an honourable man that ye've become!"

"Ye're right." He wrenched his arm from hers. "I'll be out o' yer hair as soon as th' kids wake up."

"Ye're a coward!" she shouted at his back as he let himself out of the cottage. "That's what ye are!"

X-X-X-X-X

Stiles' Apartment, Virginia 

Her back hit his crisp sheets, her head gently cushioned by the plushness of his pillow as she breathed in the heady aroma of his scent, as his tongue in her mouth demonstrated in a leisurely pantomime what he wished to do elsewhere.

Stiles broke the kiss, lifting his head and peering down at Terri, his eyes two pinpoints of blue fire in the dark.

It was all going a lot slower than expected; it unnerved her a bit. She'd only seen this side of Stiles once before, on the night that they had conceived their son. Now as then, she reveled in it. She lifted her head and bestowed a kiss that was not in the least gentle, nipping and sucking his bottom lip, gripping the biceps poised on either side of her head.

Stiles could feel his discipline slipping, the control he'd exuded in trying to make this experience between them something that they'd never experienced before. Terri's hands slipped under his T-shirt, slid over his sweat-slicked back, her nails tracing each vertebrae of his spine. He moaned softly and she could feel the muscles bunching under her hands with each passage of her nails. "Terri…" he whispered huskily.

Terri smiled inwardly, knowing too that his control was slipping, _wanting_ it to slip, wanting it to be in shambles by the wayside. She gripped the hem of his shirt. "Off," she commanded, pulling it up.

Stiles broke the contact of the line of their bodies and came up onto his knees, pulling his shirt over his head. Terri reached over and snapped on his bedside lamp. Stiles' body was bathed in the golden lamplight, turning his skin to honey. "You're beautiful," she breathed, reaching out to touch him.

"No, _you_ are," he reverently traced the curve of her cheek as he looked down on her.

Terri mirrored his actions, coming up to her knees to face him. Keeping her eyes trained on his, she lifted his Marines T-shirt over her head and tossed it onto the floor next to the bed.

He swallowed the lump in his throat as he gazed at her. Her wavy chestnut hair tumbled in a heavy mass around her shoulders, spilling onto her chest, hiding her breasts straining against the lacy cups of her brassiere. He reached out and slipped her hair behind her shoulders so that nothing blocked his view. She reached behind her for the clasp, and he licked his lips in anticipation as she bared herself to his eyes.

"God, Terri," he practically croaked.

The sensual red-blooded woman inside rejoiced. Terri slipped from the bed as Stiles lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed, his feet flat on the floor. Coming to stand between his knees, she took his hands in hers and molded them over her breasts, her head falling back as he squeezed the aching mounds gently. Her head dipped to kiss him hungrily as his hands slipped downward, over the slight swell of her stomach, the womanly flare of her hips to the waistband of her boxers. He slipped them off, taking her underwear with him until she was nude before him.

"Promise me something, Terri," he was whispering urgently against her chest, pressing kisses to her dewy skin, his spiky hair a delightful scratch to an itch as her hands nimbly unzipped his jeans.

"Yes, Stiles."

He stilled her hands, forcing her to meet his gaze. His heart was in his eyes, his emotions blatantly evident. "Promise that you won't regret this in the morning."

"I promise…."

TBC…

A/N: I'm not sure how close I treading to the line between PG-13 and R, so I decided to play it safe. Drop me a line to let me know what you thought.


	25. Chapter 25

Show: The Agency

Title: The American Family: Chapter 25

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

A/N: Thanks so much for all your remarkable comments for last chapter and for all your support in 2004. Here's to hoping 2005 will be just as great! Thanks to all who have left me insightful suggestions – your ideas are such an inspiration and encourage me to think beyond the norm. I hope you enjoy this chapter and here, even ¼ of the year is gone already, is to a happy, prosperous 2005.

X-X-X-X-X

_He looks so peaceful when he sleeps…._

Terri sighed inwardly as the first rays of dawn stole their way across the sky, riding high on Apollo's chariot, soft beams of light streaming across Stiles' face as he lay on his stomach in deep slumber. In respite, he looked so young. She noticed, not for the first time as she propped on her elbow, that his eyelashes were blonde at their tips and so sinfully long as they lay in a crescent on the tops of his cheeks. The corners of his mouth tipped down ever so slightly at the corners and he almost seemed as though he were pouting – in invitation….

How could she refuse?

Gathering the sheets more securely about her, Terri leaned over and brushed her lips, with the merest pressure, against his. She inhaled his next puff of breath and, pressing forward, deepened the kiss.

Stiles was aware of a delicious scent wafting in his nostrils. Man, woman and the unique, musky scent of lovemaking. He took a deeper breath and, as sleep loosened its tangled hold on him, he became further aware that he was being kissed. His mind connected with his drowsy state and he instantly realised who was kissing him and why.

Basking in the pleasure of such knowledge, he allowed Terri to maintain control, even as he shifted his body to his side and held her in his arms.

Slowly, Terri pulled away and looked down into his cerulean eyes, a gaze that had been hidden from her even as she had marvelled at him in his sleep.

Stiles gently tucked an errant strand of hair behind Terri's ear and cupped her cheek in the palm of his hand as she continued to look down at him.

Did she have any idea of how beautiful she looked now, with her tousled hair and still drowsy gaze, gripping the sheets of the bed he'd slept in alone for so many nights? Did she have any idea of what this image of her was doing to him?

"Good mornin'," he said softly, his voice still husky with sleep.

"Mornin'," Terri replied, with a soft smile.

Stiles revelled in the sweetness of her smile, relished how it made her appear softer and younger as it crinkled the corners of her eyes. His heart sang – he never thought he would be afforded the opportunity of seeing her wake up in his arms again. Indeed, it had happened only once, on the night they had conceived their son. That had been a night of many firsts.

"What?" asked Terri, a small frown marring her brow as Stiles studied her intently.

"Nothing," Stiles replied, leaning in for a kiss. He took her lips gently, yet possessively, nipping her bottom lip as he pulled away. "I've missed you," he said softly, amazed that he was able to get the words out. Previously, those words would have been a sign of weakness but, after last night, he knew she deserved to hear the words behind his actions.

"I've missed you, too, Stiles," Terri admitted, propping on her elbow as she returned his intent gaze.

Stiles sighed and rolled onto his back. "I really messed things up between us, didn't I?" he asked, rolling his head to look at her.

Terri instantly knew what he was talking about. "We _both_ did."

"But _I_ was the chief offender. I pushed you away every time you tried to get closer. I wasn't worth the pain you put yourself through."

"Let me be the judge of that."

Stiles smiled and stroked her cheek. "You're an amazing woman, you know that, right, Terri?"

"And don't you forget it," she cheekily replied, snuggling into his arms and basking in this blissful interlude they had managed to carve for themselves in the midst of all the chaos.

X-X-X-X-X

Bangor, Ireland 

Kit watched from the doorway of the tiny cottage as John-boy and the kids strolled along the rocky cliff edge. Niall and Gwen's delighted shrieks of laughter floated to her ears on the winds of the salty sea breeze as they cavorted with their father, revelling in the spray from the constant crash of the waves against the cliff walls.

Rather than filled with joy, her heart was heavy, for she knew within a few hours, sadness would descend over their tiny home when John-boy headed back to Belfast and probably to America. The children would practically ignore their mother for all the time John-boy was there and, when he left, she would again be left to pick up the pieces.

It was a job she never relished, but one she'd gotten used to.

She sighed and remembered what she'd poked her head out to do. "Oy, kiddies! Lunchtime!"

"Comin', Mam!" she vaguely heard Niall reply.

Kit shook her head. He and his sister were notorious for saying that, and five minutes later, they still wouldn't have come. "None o' that, t'day, young Master O'Brien! Both of ye, inside, now!"

Kit waited, arms across her chest, as the two children raced toward her, their father ambling behind them. "Wash up quickly, now," she instructed, as the twins barrelled inside. "Yer food's on th' table."

"Did ye no' want t' come out an' play, eh, Kit?" John-boy asked, when he reached his wife.

She looked up, meeting John-boy's blue-eyed gaze as he towered over her. "I think we're playin' enough games b'tween us two, already, John," was her quiet reply.

Kit remained relatively quiet as they ate lunch – roast beef sandwiches and fried tatties (potatoes, tomatoes and onions) – but listened to John-boy's tales. He was a wonderful storyteller and the kids adored him, hanging onto his every word. At the end of lunch, Kit sent them off for their naps and John-boy stayed behind to help her clear the table.

"I've got it, thanks," said Kit, taking the plate from John-boy's hand.

"I'd like t'help," he replied, taking up the cups instead.

"Don't ye have some place t'be?" she asked pointedly, setting the plates in the sink.

"I'm headin' back after dinner," he answered, setting the cups down beside the plates.

Kit said nothing, instead turned her attention to cleaning the dishes.

John-boy sighed heavily and dragged a hand through his stiff blonde hair. "I wish you could understan', Kit…."

Kit's jaw clenched and, turning off the faucet, she turned to her husband, her dark eyes flashing. "How can I understan' if _you _don't?" She shook her head fiercely and abandoned all pretences of dishwashing. "_God_… I wish ye'd never come back, John…."

John-boy sighed heavily as she left the kitchen. He heard the front door open and close and he waited five minutes before he followed her outside. He spotted her standing on the edge of the cliff wall, the weak sunlight strong enough to make the sea spray shine like diamonds in her hair. Her arms were across her chest, hugging her body as she stared out to sea. He knew she knew he was behind her, but she did not acknowledge his presence.

He placed his hands on her shoulders, feeling her body tremble through the soft grey wool of her sweater. "I don't want t'leave with things like this b'tween us, Kit," he announced softly.

"Then don't leave, John," she replied equally as softly.

"I _have_ to."

For the first time since he'd come looking for her, Kit turned and met her husband's eyes. What she said next would kill her but, for her peace of mind and the safety of their children, it had to be said. There was a thread of steel in her voice, despite the fact that her eyes were bright with unshed tears. "If you leave this place, Jonathan O'Brien, _don't_ come back. There will be nothin' waiting fer ye here if ye do."

"Don't do this, Kit," he beseeched her.

"_I_ have to."

X-X-X-X-X

**Virginia**

"That was strange," Stiles announced, driving his truck along the freeway as they headed for the office. They had just dropped Alex off at day-care. He had sensed that something good was different between his parents and the little tyke had been ecstatic.

"What was?" Terri asked, looking sideways at Stiles as she took a sip of coffee from her thermos.

"Dropping A.B.2 off, us two… I like it," he continued with a smile.

Terri's smile echoed his. "So did I." The desire for this morning's journey to be the first of many more was left unsaid.

Stiles turned his attention back to the road and they fell into silence as they went further and further toward the real world. The peace of this morning was slowly coming to an end, and they both knew any hope for future mornings was waning.

These thoughts were on her Terri's mind as she stopped off the elevator and headed for OTS. She met Joshua on her way in and he flashed her a smile.

"Good morning, Ms. Lowell," he greeted. "I trust you're feeling much better today," he continued, his grey eyes shrewdly looking over her face.

"I am, thanks," she replied to her mentor.

"Good," he concluded brusquely. "Back to work, now," he continued, walking away briskly in the opposite direction.

"Of course," Terri replied, not offended by his abrupt dismissal. Her heart was warmed by his concern.

"Hey, Terri," Lex greeted from his desk as she entered the room.

"Hi, Lex."

"How was the mini-vacation?" he asked, spinning to face her in his chair.

"It was fine," she replied to her fellow tech-head as she settled in at her own workstation.

"Great. Now you're back, you can help me with all this junk," he continued, spinning back to his desk and rapidly typing in a series of commands. "The operatives in Ireland have been going insane."

"How so?" Terri asked with a frown, as the info on Lex's computer was transferred to hers.

"Speculation." He turned to her, his green eyes curious. "Hey, Terri? Have you ever heard of St. Michael's Army?"

X-X-X-X-X

Three hours later… 

"Who are they?"

It was Gage who asked the question, looking directly at Quinn. Terri and Stiles exchanged looks, but said nothing, curious to see what Quinn's reply would be.

"I have no idea."

Needless to say, everyone, with the exception of Stiles and Terri, were surprised.

"What do you mean, you-"

"Exactly what I said," Quinn interrupted Gage with a cold reply.

Gage clenched his jaw and turned to Joshua and Lex instead. "What about you two? Do you know anything?"

"Not much," Lex replied, typing furiously. "There's been a lot of speculation over time, but nothing concrete."

"Well, what _do_ you know?" Reese asked impatiently.

"In less than twenty-four hours, a lot of info has been bouncing around on the grapevine. Apparently, they're not your typical Pro-Protestant terrorist group and they're so cloaked in secret, only a select few know of them."

Terri and Stiles exchanged looks again. This time, both Quinn and Joshua noted it and filed it away for future reference.

"What's important, then? Why all the talk?" Jackson asked Lex quietly.

For the first time since Gage asked the question, Terri spoke. "The talk is the same – worry over the election but, it's not so important _what_ they do, Jackson, but _who _does it for them."

"There in lies the next question, Ms. Lowell," Director Gage said, waiting expectantly.

"There are no operatives like other groups, instead, they rely on known assassins with various loyalties and specialties. But the list of their ruling council, rumoured to be called The Triumvirate, is most important."

"Why?"

"Because the name _Martin Archer_ tops the list."

X-X-X-X-X

Stiles shut the door to his office and turned to Terri.

"We have our proof," she announced, meeting his eyes.

"That we do," he replied lamely, walking past her to sit on the edge of his desk.

"This could work to our advantage," Terri said, moving to stand in front of him.

"How?" he asked curiously, looking up at her. "We still have no concrete proof, Terri."

"We don't _need _proof. Look at it, Stiles. Here is our opening, our excuse. The information about Archer is bouncing around the grapevine. Someone is bound to get pissed, and try to eliminate him."

"_Us._"

"And someone else takes the blame," she finished.

Stiles' blue eyes were strangely sad. "I don't like the way John-boy is making you think," he said softly.

Terri sobered and her eyes were unwavering as she spoke. "_Nothing_ and _no one_ will prevent me from protecting my family, Stiles, least of all guilt."

"I know."

X-X-X-X-X

Despite her warning, he had left as he said he would, directly after dinner. It was seven o'clock then and he had helped bathe the children and put them to bed in their cots, reading them a story and kissing their downy cheeks after they fell asleep.

"I love ye, both," he said softly, his eyes drinking in his children as they slept on in their innocence.

Kit watched this all with tears in her eyes, looking away hastily when he stood up to leave the room.

He closed the door quietly and stood before her, his eyes never leaving her beautiful face. "Take back what ye said," he asked softly, plaintively.

"_No_," her voice cracked.

John-boy clenched his jaw and looked away, feeling despair squeezing his heart.

"_Stay_," her pride was nonexistent as she practically begged him.

He shook his head sadly. "I _can't_."

A sob broke through and she hugged herself tightly. John-boy scrubbed at his face and stepped forward. She refused to let him take her in his arms, turning her back to him instead.

"I love ye, Kit," he said softly, inhaling the scent of wildflowers and rain that was her hair. "Remember that."

And then, he was gone.

After the sound of his car careening down the rocky path had faded into the night, Kit wiped her tears and squared her shoulders. Generations of Rom and Celtic blood flowed within her veins. She was _strong_. She would not allow him to break _her_, nor would she allow him to break _himself_.

If he didn't listen to reason, she would have to stop him herself.

The initial groundwork had been laid. It would be up to her to finish the job.

TBC…

A/N: I hope you guys are intrigued. Once again, I've taken the story in an entirely different direction than expected. I hope you enjoyed. Took me long enough to write, lol. Drop me a line and tell me if it was worth the effort.

Cara


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